


The Aftermath

by esteel



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bipolar Disorder, Character Death, Committed Relationship, Cussing, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Abuse Treatment, Drug Treatment, Drug Withdrawal, Homophobic Language, M/M, Misogyny, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 82,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22211620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteel/pseuds/esteel
Summary: What if the rape happened, but Mickey couldn’t just shrug it off and get on with his life?What if Mickey and Swetlana never got married?What if Ian didn’t run? What if he stayed and fought for Mickey?What if Ian, Mickey, Yevy, and Svetlana didn’t create a happy little family and live together in perfect harmony?What if Svetlana wasn’t a paragon of motherhood, fiercely protective of her baby?What if Mickey never became the reluctant father who grew to love the child of rape?If you really love Svetlana, this might not be the story for you, she's very different.This story is not meant to be anti-immigrant, anti-American, or pro-Trump. It's just my take on what could have happened after Terry and Svetlana raped Mickey. I'm not aiming to offend anyone.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 37
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The best laid plans..............

Ian stood in the doorway listening to Svetlana tell Mickey how shit was gonna be from now on, how he belonged to her now. This bitch has lost her fucking mind. Ian looked down at the small pile of clothes shoved in a corner near the door. His shit. She must’ve gone through Mickey’s room and thrown out anything that might belong to Ian. Bitch. This two-bit whore is laying down the fucking law. He inhaled harshly through his nostrils, he was so fucking mad, his entire body was trembling.  
Svetlana had on one of Terry's shirts over her panties. She stood with one hand on her hip, pointing a finger at Mickey, “My things in room now, is our room. We marry Saturday. Is what Terry say. He boss, you scared little boy, a bitch. I throw crazy orange boy shit out, make pile at door. I don’t want his shit here. He not welcome here. We marry, no room for him. No more boy love, rubbing dicks, ass fucking. He not come here, or I tell Terry. You will be husband to me. You mine now. Terry say this. We have baby, be family. You hear Terry say this,” her voice dripped with contempt as she challenged Mickey. She hated weakness.  
She knew that Mickey was scared shitless of Terry. He was a weak bitch, and she was going to use that to her advantage. She ignored the niggling voice in her head that warned her to be careful, pushing it to the back of her mind. This was her chance, and she was taking it. She deserved this. People had shit on her all her damn life, now she was doing the shitting. She was in control. She had the fucking power and she intended to use it. It’s the American way.  
Mickey stood there hating himself. He had no control over his life. He was a fucking coward. A feckless ass coward. He hated this bitch and he hated Terry. But what could he do? Terry said he would kill Ian if Mickey didn’t marry her, and Mickey believed him. He would do anything to protect Ian, he had to let him go. He didn’t have a fucking choice. But he refused to make it easy for this evil bitch. 

With as much venom as he could muster, he said, “Fuck you bitch and fuck Terry. You and me, we will never be a family. I don’t give a fuck what Terry says. I hate your ugly, washed up, whore ass”.  
She laughed scornfully, “You do what Terry say, you do what I say. You scared, like a bitch, a pussy. Now get orange boy shit out, my house now. Tell him stay away or I tell Terry. You mine, belong to me and baby”.  
They hadn’t noticed Ian standing there until he stepped further into the room. Enough of this shit. He wanted to kill this bitch.

Mickey looked at Ian and immediately lowered his head in shame. He couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. He felt like a disgusting piece of shit. He hated himself. Ian heard the way this bitch was talking to him, saw him just stand there and take it like the bitch she said he was. The same way he let them rape his sorry ass. He didn’t fight back then, and he wouldn’t fight back now. He couldn’t afford to. What the fuck could he do? Terry was going to kill Ian if he didn’t marry her bitch ass.  
Svetlana eyed Ian with hostility, “You here, is good. Get shit out now. You not welcome here. Ask scared little bitch, he tell you or I get Terry to tell you. Who you want, huh”? She knew that he feared Terry, too. She had watched Terry pistol whip his freckled ass. She had seen how terrified he was. He had nerve enough to come back? Why? Crazy fuck.  
She stood there, hands on her hips with a smug smile, daring him to ask Mickey. She hated Ian with a fierceness. He was a threat, Mickey loved him, not her. For now. She could change that, but she had to get rid of him first.  
Ian walked over to Mickey and placed a hand on his shoulder. Mickey whispered in a broken voice, “I’m sorry Ian. She’s right. Gotta do what she said, or she’ll tell Terry, man”.  
“No, we don’t Mickey. We don’t gotta do shit. Fuck her and fuck Terry. Let me handle her. I got this, baby”. 

Mickey didn’t really register what Ian said. He was too busy wondering how to get him out of the house before Terry got back and beat him to death, beat them both to death.  
Svetlana wanted to hear what Ian had to say. She knew she had won, Terry was on her side. He told her that Mickey would marry her, and Mickey always did whatever Terry said. He was weak. She relished the thought of putting this red head piece of shit in his place, out of her house, out of her life. Out of Mickey’s life.  
She sneered, “Get shit and get out. Scared gay bitch can’t help you. He too scared of Terry. He my bitch now, I make him husband, good husband, good father. I make him real man. I make him like my pussy. No more dick in ass for him”.  
Ian shuddered with revulsion as he looked her dead in the eye, “Yeah, Mickey’s scared, and you being the low-down, dirty bitch you are, can’t resist taking advantage of that. Raping him wasn’t enough for your ass. You wanna keep on fucking with him, forcing him to do shit he don’t wanna do. You think you own him because you say it’s his baby. We don’t know that shit. You’re a fucking whore, it could be anybody’s fucking baby. You willingly raped him, bitch. But even if your whore ass didn’t know that you had to rape somebody to get paid, you’re choosing to participate in a fucking forced marriage now. But let me tell you something, you’re not gonna get your fucking fairy tale ending. You think you smell weakness? Wrong again. He’s not weak, he’ll do anything to protect me. It’s called love, bitch. You don’t recognize it because you’ve never had it, and you will never have it. But listen up, I’m not scared of your nasty ass and I won’t fucking stand for you and Terry to hurt him anymore. It’s over, you’re fucking done. Now get your ass outta here before I throw you out that fucking back door onto that pile of garbage where your nasty ass belongs”.  
When she didn’t move, he started toward her, “I said get the fuck out now, bitch”.  
Ian understood that she was alone and scared, uncertain of her future. She saw a chance to have some control and grabbed it, but she went too fucking far. She had no idea who she was fucking with. Something deep inside him had shattered as he sat there watching them rape Mickey. He was tired of people fucking Mickey around, he would kill to protect him.  
Mickey’s mouth was hanging open in shock. Is Ian having a fucking episode? Didn’t he hear her say she was gonna tell Terry? The fuck’s wrong with him? He’s gonna get us both fucking killed. Fuck is he even talking about? Maybe his fucking pills stopped working, he needs a damn medication adjustment. All this shit must’ve pushed him over the edge. Shit. Fuck. He had to get him out of this fucking house.  
Svetlana was getting worried as she listened to Ian. She sensed danger. He’s crazy, everybody knows he’s fucking crazy. He might hurt me. Terry’s ass is not here to protect me. I’ll go get him. Tell him. He’ll straighten this shit out.  
She tried to maintain a brave façade, but she was in a panic. Would he really throw her out? She knew Mickey wouldn’t help her, he hated her, and he seemed as confused by Ian as she was. Ian was advancing on her, so she made a snap decision. The front door was closer, but she would have to pass Ian to get to it, so she scurried to the back door, “I get Terry. What you say then, huh? He beat your ass like last time, maybe he kill you this time”.  
She laughed bitterly as she slammed the back door behind her. She stumbled on the rickety porch steps in her haste and fell face down in the garbage strewn yard. Fuck. She quickly got up, brushing the foul-smelling garbage out of her face and hair. Blood dripped from a deep gash on her forehead. Motherfuckers. She took off running bare foot through the filthy alley, in the direction of the Alibi. Where else would Terry’s drunk ass be?  
Mickey finally found his voice, “Ian, you don’t know what you just did. Are you taking your pills, man? He’s gonna kill us this time for sure. You know that. We gotta go. Now. I’ll come back later, after he calms down. I’ll be fine. Let’s fucking go before they get back”.

Ian knew how scared Mickey was, “Calm down, Mick. Told you I got this shit. I’m sick of them threatening you. Not enough they fucking raped you. They’re gonna keep on fucking with you. Fuck that. Not gonna happen. You’ll see. Trust me on this”.  
“Ian, you’re not making sense. The fuck can you do to stop Terry’s maniac ass? He’s gonna kill us, man”. He had to get Ian away from here. Why was Ian fighting him on this? Should he call Fiona? Lip? Fuck, he needed help.  
“No, he’s not. Not today he won’t. Just calm the fuck down, Mickey,” Ian said.  
Ian finally got Mickey to calm down. He was about to explain everything to him when Svetlana burst through the front door limping, wild eyed and out of breath. She had cuts and scratches on her face and arms, her knees were bloody, and she stank. Mickey expected Terry to be behind her. He rested his hand on the gun in his waistband, ready to shoot him on fucking sight. He refused to let him hurt Ian again.  
Then he saw that she was alone, “What happened to you, bitch? Terry beat your ass or something? You fucking stink”. The fuck happened to her? Was Terry on his way?  
Ian faced Svetlana, an unreadable expression on his face as he listened to her frantic babbling, “Terry in jail, says this at Alibi. Police took him in car, cuff hands. Broke jail rule. He in jail. What we do? We see how much money to get him free? We go now? Wedding Saturday. What we do? We hurry”?  
Ian quirked an eyebrow, “Question is, what’re you gonna do, bitch? He was your fucking ticket”.  
Mickey was visibly relieved. Bastard’s back in jail where his ass belongs. But for how long? How much time do we have? He could get released anytime. Who the fuck knows with that slippery ass motherfucker?  
Suddenly, he turned his attention to Ian. Why is he not surprised? Did he already know? How could he know? Fuck’s going on with him? Why is he fucking smiling? The fuck’s going on here? 

Before he could ask, Svetlana spoke, “We marry Saturday, is plan. Preacher be there, we be there. Is what Terry said. He get out soon”. She had to make sure they got married on Saturday. Terry had promised her.  
Ian laughed, “You wish, bitch. Not gonna be a wedding. No fucking whore wedding Saturday. Gonna have to find another sucker. Maybe you can find one by Saturday”.  
“But already plan. I tell Terry, will go to jail, visit. I tell him”. Her dreams were disappearing right before her eyes.  
“You can take the cell next to him for all we care. The wedding is off, bitch. Your fucking reign of terror is over. You heard of ICE?” Ian asked with a nasty smile. He hated this bitch. He was gonna terrorize her ass for a change.  
Her eyes bucked, she ran a shaking hand through her damp, foul smelling hair, but she didn’t say a word.  
Ian laughed bitterly, holding up his phone, “Thought so. I got ‘em on speed dial, bitch. I will report your undocumented ass. Have you deported back to whatever shithole you crawled outta. One phone call is all it takes. You bring your ass up in here and throw threats around like you fucking belong here. You ain’t got no rights here. You’re not even supposed to be here. You don’t even exist, bitch. Your vision of the fucking American dream died with this fucking president. Pretty sure your dumb ass knows all about it. Would’ve been better for you to just keep turning tricks to earn a fucking living, that’s what you know. That’s your fucking specialty, that shit don’t require a brain. That might’ve worked out better for your ass, but nah, you had to step off half-cocked into this shit. Now you’re fucked every which way. So, here’s what you’re gonna do. Put my shit back where it belongs. Get your filthy shit outta our room. Find another room for your shit. That is, if Mick will let you stay here. Personally, I hope he kicks your ass out on the fucking street”.  
She stood there in shocked silence, swallowing noisily as she looked at Mickey. Everything had gone wrong. 

Mickey was just as shocked as she was with the turn of events. Ian must’ve had Terry arrested, set him up or something. But how? Fucking when? They needed to leave town before the shit back fired. Fuck. Thoughts were swirling around in his head, knocking up against each other, making him fucking dizzy. He needed to sit down, but he couldn’t seem to move.  
Ian turned to him, “Mick, you gonna take pity on her undocumented, homeless ass and let her stay or we gonna kick her out like the fucking garbage she is”? He wanted to kick her ass out.  
Mickey was chewing his inner cheek furiously. His heart was beating too fast, his head was throbbing, and his stomach was rolling. He was too fucking agitated to speak. The actual fuck is going on? He didn’t understand any of this. What the actual fuck happened?  
Svetlana was scared shitless. She had no place to go, no one to take her in. She had listened to Terry, believed in him. She believed in the fear Mickey had for Terry, she understood that fear very well. She had used that fear to control Mickey, to intimidate him. Now she had to depend on him and this crazy ass orange boy. How did everything get so fucked up? One minute she was planning her wedding, the next minute she was facing deportation, she was homeless, with no fucking American dream. No Saturday wedding. No family. Nothing.  
She looked at Mickey, pleading, “I sorry. Terry makes me. I scared of him. I do what he says. No place to go. I stay”?  
Ian laughed harshly, “You might be scared of Terry, most everybody is. But you went beyond that, bitch. You raped Mickey. You and Terry raped him. Then you terrorized him, intimidated him, day after fucking day. That was all you. Fuck your sorry, you knew exactly what you were doing. Terry didn’t make you do that shit, he wasn’t even here when you did it today. I watched you, I listened to your dumb ass. You’re not fucking sorry, your ass is just homeless, and you don’t know what the fuck to do. You’re scared because you think I’ll call ICE on your sorry ass, and you’re right about that. I will call them, bitch. I wanna call ‘em. Just gimme a fucking reason. How you gonna bring your dumb, undocumented ass up in here and dictate fucking terms? Terrorize a motherfucker? Who the fuck do you think you are anyway? You think we’re a bunch of idiots, bitch? I wanna stomp your no-good ass myself. Who the fuck you think you are for real”?  
Mickey was calming down, but he was seriously worried as he watched Ian. He ain’t fucking bullshitting. He’s mad enough to stomp her fucking ass right now, but he’ll never forgive himself for hurting a woman, any woman. Can’t let that shit happen. This bitch ain’t worth it. He needed to rein this shit in right now.  
He placed a steadying hand on Ian’s shoulder, “Ian, calm down. Don’t wanna hurt her ass. How ‘bout we let her stay in Terry’s room, she’ll feel right at home in there, that’s where they fucked when they thought I was sleep. Like I gave a shit. We let her ass stay as long as she stays the fuck outta our way. Till we figure this shit out. I don’t wanna see her ugly ass face”.  
Ian smiled, “Thought you’d say that shit. See how good he is, bitch? Letting your ass stay here after all you did to him. You ought to be shame with your dumb ass. He would’ve done whatever he could to help you anyway, make sure you were ok. He’s good that way. But you fucked around and made him hate your ass. Now you gotta deal with me and I don’t give a fuck about you, because you know better. You know what it’s like to be sexually abused. It’s not like you’re a high class call girl, a companion or some shit. You’re the lowest of the low, a fucking two-bit whore. Men come to your ass for one thing, they just wanna get off. They make you do whatever they want, no regard for how you feel, just open your fucking legs, open your fucking mouth, spread your fucking ass cheeks. So, your ass knew how Mick felt when you helped Terry rape him. You knew you were hurting him, destroying a part of him. Instead of acting human and shit, you got with Terry and made a fucking plan to keep on fucking with him. You could’ve got away from Terry, but you saw a chance to have your shitty version of the fucking American dream, and you went for it. You didn’t give a fuck who you hurt, it was Svetlana’s fucking turn, and you were taking it. Well, I’m taking it away from you, bitch. You got nothing. Now, here’s how it’s gonna be. You will stay away from Mick. You will stay the fuck away from me. You can keep any money you earn. You’re gonna need it, trust me. You will keep this shit hole clean. You will never go in our room and I mean never, bitch. You will buy your own food. You will not touch ours. If you need to speak to me or Mick, you will use our fucking names. You will never call me carrot top or orange boy again. You will never call Mick gay boy or bitch again. I’m gonna write our names down and if you need to practice saying them in the fucking mirror, do that bitch. Now, do you understand your fucking place”?  
Svetlana was reeling, she couldn’t think clearly. So much had happened so quickly, but she was relieved they were letting her stay. Did the asshole really say she could keep her money? They were fucking fools. Stupid bitches.  
She tried for a meek tone, “I understand. I keep all money I make”? She needed to make sure.  
Ian had a hard glint in his eyes as he spoke, “That’s what I said. We don’t want shit from you. Now listen to this real careful, I’m gonna speak real slow ‘cause I want you to get this. If anything happens to me or Mick, ICE will find your ass. Any fucking thing at all. It’s already arranged. So, you better pray that we stay fucking healthy. Going around here threatening us with a fucking claw hammer while we’re sleeping and shit. The fuck you think you are? Think you’re the only motherfucker that can throw a fucking threat? Understand this, what I said about ICE ain’t no threat, it’s a fucking promise, bitch. Trust me. I’m happy to see your ass get deported. Your ass needs regulating and I’m just the motherfucker to do it. I’m taking the fucking job on”.  
Svetlana studied him closely and decided that he meant every fucking word. She had never seen that look in his eyes before. She had seen fear, anger, disgust, horror, defeat, and resignation. But never that look. She wondered if he had something to with Terry’s sudden arrest. He was proving to be smarter than she thought. She decided that Ian Gallagher was fucking dangerous. The law was on his side. She wanted him to know that she understood. She couldn’t risk deportation. She couldn’t go back. She had promised herself that she would never go back. She vowed to get even with Ian one day. He took Mickey away from her. He destroyed her dream, and Mickey just stood there and let him. She would get even with them both one day. For now, she meekly replied, “I understand, Ian. I do what you say. No make trouble”.  
To prove she understood, she walked over to the pile of clothes she had so brazenly thrown out earlier and took them back to Mickey’s room. Then she quickly gathered her things and took them to Terry’s room.

Mickey sat on the sofa, he was drained both emotionally and physically. He was impressed that Ian had taken care of it. He had taken care of everything. But how?  
Ian sat down beside him and pulled his phone out.  
“Hey Sgt. Hamilton. This is Ian. How did it go, man? Any charges yet”?  
Sgt. Hamilton said, “Ian. Yes, we arrested him in his car. Found two pounds of uncut coke, two AK-47s, and a Glock 19 in his car, which by the way, was stolen out of Indiana. His fingerprints all over the weapons, and coke. Claims he doesn’t know anything about any of it. Says he’s being set up. Told him to tell it to the judge. He’ll be arraigned in the morning. Possession of a controlled substance while armed is a felony. Him being on parole makes it worse. Prosecutor says he’s going away for a long time. Shit, he’s a damn repeat offender, won’t have to worry about his ass for a while. Thanks for the tip, son. Not gonna ask how you got the info. No one will ever know you called in the tip. You won’t need to testify or anything”.  
“Good. Thanks Sgt. Let me know if anything comes up, please”?  
“You got it. Gotta run”. The Sgt. disconnected the call.  
Ian turned to Mickey with a satisfied smile, “Well, Mick we’re free for now. Can’t get too comfortable, but we got time to make a good plan”.

Mickey had listened to Ian’s side of the conversation. Well, shit. He planned all this shit. He fucking took care of it. He stopped the fucking wedding. He got Terry’s ass locked up. Mickey could breathe again.  
He looked at Ian with love and gratitude in his eyes, “Man, how did you pull that shit off”?  
Ian motioned to the porch, he didn’t trust that bitch Svetlana.  
They stood on the sidewalk as Ian explained that last night, he saw Terry and Iggy drive up and get out of their car. Iggy went inside and Terry walked around to the back of the house. Ian watched him hide something under a pile of shit in the backyard. When Terry went inside, he checked it out, saw that it was coke, and he stole it. He knew he had to act quickly, before Terry discovered it was missing. Getting the guns was easy, the fucking house was littered with them. He sneaked in when everyone was sleeping and stole three. He planted everything in Terry’s car. This morning, he waited in the alley near the Alibi. When Terry parked and went inside for his morning round of drinking, Ian called Sgt. Hamilton with the tip. The police waited until Terry got in the car and arrested his ass.  
Mickey’s mouth was hanging open in alarm, “You did all that without telling me? He could’ve woke up at any time, Ian. You could’ve been fucking caught, man. What if one of those other shitheads saw you? Fuck”. He shivered, thinking about the danger Ian put himself in, and he did it for Mickey.  
“I had to do something, Mickey. Saw what they were doing to you. They were fucking terrorizing you, traumatizing you more every fucking day. I wasn’t gonna stand by and watch that shit, watch you marry that whore. I had to watch them rape you, couldn’t do nothing about that. Fuck if I was gonna stand by and let them force you to marry her ass, too. Fuck. No. Mickey. Fuck. No. The fucking risk was worth it. You’re mine and I take care of what’s mine. Same as you did for me back when I was first diagnosed. We take care of each other. When you’re weak, I’m strong and vice versa. I always got you, Mick”.

Mickey looked at him in wonder. He had given the fuck up. He didn’t see a fucking way out. His mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of losing Ian, he had been devastated. He had been paralyzed with fear, fear for Ian and fear for himself. That whore and Terry played on that fear day after day. Reminding him that they were in control of his fucking life. He felt helpless, impotent, useless. But Ian didn’t give up on him, he risked his life to save him. Maybe he was worth something, after all. Maybe Terry was wrong.  
He kissed Ian softly on the lips, “Thank you. I love you, man”.  
He didn’t give a fuck who saw them kissing. They were far beyond that shit now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day before Terry got arrested.
> 
> Mickey is defeated.
> 
> Ian is just getting started.
> 
> Terry plans the wedding all by himself. 
> 
> Svetlana tries to force Mickey to behave like husband to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The day before Terry got arrested.

Ian felt like the wind had been knocked out of him as he watched Mickey walk away. Mickey was going to marry that fucking whore. He was going to marry his fucking rapist. Terry had brutally pistol whipped them both, then held them at gunpoint while that whore raped Mickey. Now they were going to make him marry the bitch. They were out to destroy his fucking life. 

Mickey didn’t believe he had a choice, Ian understood that. Terry had threatened to kill Ian if Mickey didn’t marry that bitch. Mickey knew that Terry meant what he said, he knew first hand that his father was a psychotic killer.   
Ian knew that Terry meant it, too, he had the fucking bruises to prove it. But he wasn’t gonna let Terry ruin Mickey’s life, not without a fight. He just wasn’t. Fuck Terry. Fuck that whore. They had worn Mickey down, so Ian had to fight for him. He had to be the strong one. He would be the strong one. Fuck them.

Terry had controlled Mickey by beating him and keeping him scared, all his damn life. This forced marriage was just another iteration of that bullshit. Terry needed Mickey because he was the smartest of all his sons. The others were big, dumb brutes without one brain cell between them. Mickey was the mastermind behind all the successful scams and deals. Terry turned to him to clean up the shit those other dumbasses fucked up. To keep the family business running smoothly, Terry needed Mickey, and he was determined to keep him. 

As Ian made his way home that night, a plan took form in his brain.

When Mickey left Ian, he stopped at the liquor store and bought a 5th of their cheapest booze, and three packs of Marlboro cigarettes. When he got close to his house, he began schooling his features. He didn’t want Terry fucking with him. The motherfucker could smell fear and he would pounce.   
Mickey barged in, slamming the door behind him. Terry was sprawled on the filthy sofa in a soiled, ragged T shirt, and his dingy boxers was stuck in the crack of his ass. An open pint of vodka sat on the coffee table, along with a few lines of coke.   
Startled by the noise, Terry jumped, “Fuck’s wrong with your ass coming in here like that?” he snarled.   
Mickey ignored him and kept walking. 

“Don’t you hear me talking to you, you faggot motherfucker? What you got in that fucking bag?” he demanded.

Mickey stopped but didn’t turn around. He just wanted to go to his fucking room, shut the fucking door, drink his fucking booze, smoke a couple blunts and pass the fuck out. Just like he did every fucking night. Instead, he snarked, “Fucking booze. Why”?

“‘Cause I asked your damn ass, that’s why. Bring it on over here. Get some fucking glasses, have a drink with your old man. Come on over here, boy”.

Mickey got the glasses and gave Terry the bottle. “Fuck you doing with this cheap ass shit?” Terry asked, laughing.  
“All I could afford. You wanna fucking drink or not? You can give my shit back, you know,” Mickey snarked.

Terry laughed, “Shut the fuck up and sit your ass down. The whore’s in the bathroom. We got wedding plans to talk about. Pour you a fucking drink,” he said as he turned Mickey’s bottle up and took a large, sloppy gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his nasty hand.

Mickey sat in the chair across from him. Fuck. That bitch is here. Should’ve gone to the fucking abandoned building and got drunk in fucking peace. After he left Ian he just walked, didn’t even notice where the fuck he was going until he saw the liquor store. Now this shit is happening.  
Svetlana flounced into the living room wearing one of Terry’s dingy T shirts. She sat down next to Terry, “Gay boy here. Good. We talk about wedding. Terry say so,” she said, grinning maliciously at Mickey.  
“The fuck we gotta talk about? We go to the fucking courthouse, sign the fucking paper, that’s it,” Mickey said.  
“No. We marry in church. Terry say so. Have wedding. Nice,” she said smugly, crossing her legs.  
“Fuck that. I don’t want that shit. Ain’t like I wanna marry your whore ass,” Mickey snarled.  
“You want orange boy, ass fuck. You marry me, be husband. No more dick. Right Terry?” she asked, turning to face Terry.  
“Shut the fuck up, bitch. Talking that shit in here. I’ll kick your fucking ass. Fuck you think you are? You don’t run shit. You do what I fucking say. Say another fucking word so I can stomp your skank ass. This shit is between me and my boy. Father, son shit,” Terry spat.

Mickey looked at her and smirked as she cowered, scrambling away from Terry. 

Terry took another huge gulp of whiskey and said, “Son, we’re having a church wedding. You’ll be the first one in the family to marry. Already got it all lined up. Fucking church, reception at the Alibi. Thought of everything. Nothing but the best. Stopped by the pawn shop, they got a tuxedo you can get, even priced some rings we can get real cheap. Told that fucker to hold the shit for me. Me and Iggy goin’ on a run tonight, I’ll have the money for that asshole in a couple days. I got everything covered, son. All you gotta do is show up and marry the skank whore”. 

When he stopped talking, he was smiling proudly as he scratched his ass, clearly expecting Mickey to say something.

“Fucking fine. Whatever you say, pops,” Mickey said. Fuck else could he do?

“It’s for the best, son. You’ll see. This whore bitch ain’t the wife I would’ve picked for you. But circumstances didn’t give me a fucking choice. So, get your ass ready to get married Saturday and forget that ginger fucker. Understand, son?” Terry asked. 

This delusional motherfucker thinks he’s being a fucking father. Like he’s looking out for my best fucking interest. Psychotic motherfucker. 

“Whatever. Can I go to my room now?” Mickey asked standing up and grabbing his bottle.

Terry reached for the bottle, “Gimme another fucking drink of that cheap ass shit. Where the fuck is Iggy”?  
Mickey gave him the bottle and said, “Fuck if I know where he is. Want me to call his ass”?  
“You better fucking find his ass. He knows we got business. Call his ass and tell him to get his fucking ass here before I get mad”.

Mickey snatched his bottle up and headed for his room, shooting Svetlana a malicious grin and a wink. She was still cowering at the other end of the sofa, far away from Terry.

When Mickey closed the door to his room, he heaved a sigh of relief. He got away without getting his ass kicked. He texted Iggy and got an immediate response, “On my way. Tell him”.  
Mickey rolled his eyes and pitched his phone across the room. Fuck you. You tell his ass when you get here. He rolled a blunt, fired it up and lay down, thinking about his upcoming fucking wedding. 

He thought about how hurt Ian had been when he told him he had to marry that whore. He tried to explain that he didn’t have a choice, but Ian kept insisting that there was always a fucking choice. Mickey chalked it up to being raised in the fucking Gallagher house surrounded by people who actually gave a shit about you, people that wanted you to be happy and shit. Well, that wasn’t Mickey’s fucking life experience. 

Ian believed that Mickey could make something of himself, have a good life and shit, he just had to get away from Terry’s ass. He was always going on about fucking plans, goals and shit. Mickey’s only goal was staying alive for another fucking day. Always been that way.

Mickey believed that Ian could make it out of the south side, have a good life, and he wanted that for him. But a good life wasn’t in the cards for Mickey and he knew it. All his life, Terry told him that he was fucked for life. His future was fucking prison or death, probably both. 

Terry always made sure that Mickey and his siblings knew who had all the control. Sometimes Mickey wondered why they didn’t just band together against Terry and control his fucking ass. But they weren’t raised like that. As far back as he could remember, Terry always pitted them against each other, made them fight each other and shit, made them snitch on each other, sometimes to gain favor with him, but mostly to avoid getting their own ass kicked. So, they grew up like wild fucking animals, survival of the fittest and shit. They couldn’t depend on each other for shit. Hell, they didn’t even like each other. 

Ian didn’t understand what it was like to be scared every day of your fucking life. He didn’t know what it was like for fear to be the motivating factor for every fucking decision you made, for every fucking action you took. He didn’t know what it was like to live your fucking life in isolation because you were afraid that you’d be rejected if you reached out. He didn’t know what it was like to believe that you deserve to be rejected because you’ve always been told that you’re a worthless piece of shit. He didn’t want Ian to ever understand what it felt like to be Mickey Milkovich. He was ashamed for Ian to know who he really was.   
Mickey passed out after finishing off the booze and smoking another blunt. He thought about the lines of coke on the coffee table but decided against going back out there. He got away with his ass intact once. Why chance it? He passed out with Ian on his mind and tears on his cheeks.

Later that night, Mickey struggled through the drunken haze to wake up. Fuck time is it? How long was he out? It really didn’t matter because it wasn’t fucking long enough. Something heavy was weighing him down. The fuck? Something had his fucking dick. The fuck? He knocked the weight off him and sat up. 

Svetlana cursed in rapid fire Russian as she hit the floor hard, her head banging loudly against the wall. Mickey was instantly sober. The fuck is that nasty ass whore doing in his bed? Messing with his dick? Bitch.

She jumped up and tried to crawl back in bed, but he pushed her away violently, nearly knocking her back down.   
“Fuck’s wrong with you, bitch? Get the fuck outta here,” he spat, rubbing his bleary eyes with the heels of his hands.

She righted herself, rubbing her sore head, “Terry say I stay. We marry three days. My home, my bed. Is what Terry want. You my husband, sleep in same bed. Is right”.

“Bitch, I don’t give a fuck what Terry said. Get your skank ass outta here, and keep your fucking hands off me,” he said as he hurled the empty whiskey bottle at her head. 

She ducked, the bottle barely missing her head, “I tell Terry. He back soon. I tell him, he kick your ass, you pussy. No more ass fuck with orange boy. You mine now, fuck my pussy like real man. Like husband”.

He jumped off the bed and grabbed her throat, “Say another fucking word, bitch. You won’t be around when that motherfucker gets back. I’ll bury your ass under the fucking tracks, nobody’ll ever find your fucking corpse. You think Terry’s crazy ass will give a shit? Huh bitch? Try me, say something else, I fucking dare you”.

He slammed her into the wall, snarling, “I didn’t fucking think so”. He dragged her to the door, shoved her out, slammed the door and locked it.  
He slumped on the bed in defeat. Sure, he got rid of her for now, but he knew she would be back and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do about it. 

Svetlana stood staring at the locked door, rubbing her head and fuming. She was sick of these assholes treating her like a piece of shit. They are the dumb shits. She vowed to get even with them all, especially crazy orange boy. He was the reason Mickey didn’t want her.   
She had whored her way all the way from Russia to have the fucking American dream, and orange boy wasn’t going to stand in her way. Mickey was going to marry her, they were going to be a fucking family. She had that stupid ass Terry on her side. Mickey is a scared pussy, he’ll do whatever Terry says. She would figure out how to get rid of Terry’s ass after the wedding. Maybe she’d make Mickey kill him. She would figure it out, she was smarter than all of them. She knew that she was. She got this far using her brain and her pussy. 

Sure, she knew what they were doing to Mickey was cruel, but she didn’t give a fuck. She had been victimized by men all her damn life, starting with her piece of shit father, and she had learned that the only way to survive was to find a victim and exploit them. She was in control for the first time in her miserable life and she was proud of herself, she was getting the American dream. She had made it. American husband, baby, house, eventually, citizenship. She ignored the small voice warning her that her plan could backfire. 

She snatched the smelly, moth eaten blanket off the floor and made herself comfortable on the filthy sofa to wait for Terry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian map out a plan to leave Chicago.
> 
> They get jobs and save their money.
> 
> Mickey is conflicted.
> 
> Svetlana feels cheated.

A few days after Terry’s arrest, they were sitting on their bed discussing the next part of Ian’s plan while Svetlana was at work. They never discussed anything important when she was around.

“I think we gotta leave here, Mick.”

Mickey agreed, “Yeah, I know. Figure we got maybe a year at best, and he’ll be back on the street. I don’t care what the prosecutor says. He always gets out”.

“Yeah, you’re right. I give it a year, year and a half. We’ll be gone whenever his ass gets out”.

“Where you thinking we should go, tough guy? We’ll have to save our money, get jobs and shit. I don’t wanna chance nothing illegal. Get caught up and shit. Although, that is the best fucking way to make a lot of money fast,” Mickey said, clearly thinking about the money to be made selling drugs and running guns.

Ian could tell where his mind was. “Mick, we can’t chance that shit. Too fucking risky. You get arrested, I’m not gonna leave you here. Then I’m in danger. I say we get legit jobs, save our money. Might take longer, but it’s safer”.

Mickey nodded his head, “Yeah. You’d be fool enough to stick around for me. Can’t have that. Whole fucking point is to get away from danger”. 

Ian nodded, “I been looking at job openings in Evanston. Seems like a nice place, college town and shit. Be real easy for us to blend in, we’re college age. They got a lotta job openings, shit we qualify for since we both got our GED and shit”.

“What kind of jobs? Don’t wanna clean up after no entitled assholes unless I just gotta. Know what I mean”?

“I know, Mickey. They got openings for warehouse jobs, receptionists, different kinds of clerks and shit at the university, all shit we can do. Maybe we even take some classes down the line. We don’t like it there, we move on. I just think we should be close to the kid, in case something happens. If somebody gotta bring it to us, they won’t have far to go. Just trying to figure the shit out from all angles. What do you think”?

“Ian, how do we even know the fucking baby is mine? It’s probably Terry’s. Told you, I heard them fucking all the time when they thought I was sleep. Could be anybody’s. She’s a fucking whore, fucks sake. A dumbass one at that. What whore fucks without a fucking condom? Had to get my ass tested after that fucking day. I don’t want nothing to do with her damn kid, man. I can’t stand the thought of it. Don’t see that shit ever changing, Ian. Just being honest here”.

“I know, Mick. It’s a fucked up situation. We can get a paternity test when it gets here, if you wanna. Not gonna force you to do nothing you don’t wanna do. Just throwing different shit out for you to consider. We wanna make good decisions about our life. We’re gonna be together, Mickey. You and me together, always. I love you so much, baby. Just want you to be alright”.

“I love you too, man. Let’s see about getting jobs for now, saving our money. See about the rest later. Think she’s saving her money like you told her”?

“I hope so. We’re giving her a chance to save up. She ain’t got no fucking expenses. All she gotta do is feed her own sorry ass. She can get WIC for the baby, probably other benefits, too. Gonna tell her to check social services out, see what she qualifies for. I don’t know how that shit works for undocumented people, with this president and his shit, who knows? She might be too scared to go down and apply. Shit, I hadn’t even thought about that. Fuck”.

“Calm down, tough guy. We’ll check it out together, see what the fuck’s up”.

Ian cleared his throat, “I was thinking that if it’s alright with you, we’d send money to Kev for her every month. Have him keep an eye on the baby, make sure she’s doing right by it and shit. What do you think about that”? 

“Man, I don’t fucking know. Might not even be my fucking kid, Ian. I hope it’s not my fucking kid. I don’t wanna be tied to that bitch in any way. Any self-respecting whore would’ve gotten a fucking abortion. But no, her dumb ass had to listen to Terry, and now we gotta clean their shit up. Fuck her and Fuck Terry. I just wanna be done with her evil, skank ass. I don’t wanna talk about it no more, man. Her or her fucking kid. Giving me a fucking headache”. 

He was fucking sick of Ian trying to tie him to that fucking baby. Trying to make him feel responsible for it. Just because Ian’s ass was big on responsibility and shit, didn’t mean he was, too. 

But he understood that Ian was trying to do what was best because he loved Mickey. Ian had rescued his helpless ass after he had given up all hope. While he just sat there and let those assholes fuck all over his pathetic ass, Ian was busy planning to get rid of Terry’s ass. Yeah, Ian was just looking out for them. 

“Ok Mick. Sorry. Let’s give it a rest. Scoot on over here, I’ll massage your head, make it all better,” Ian said, licking his lips seductively. 

Ian got a job as a checker at Whole Foods on the north side. He was good at his job, and he could get as many hours as he wanted. They had decided that dancing was not an option for him, just like drugs and guns were not an option for Mickey. 

Mickey worked construction with Sully. The pay was good, Mickey especially liked it because he could lose himself in the back-breaking, mind numbing work, he was too fucking tired to think. 

Ian was going to make sure they found something different for Mickey when they moved. He wanted better for Mickey, he was capable of much more. He deserved much more. 

One evening, they sat Svetlana down to tell her about the state benefits she might qualify for. She looked at them warily, they could be trying to set her up, ICE could be waiting for her when she went to the government office. She heard stories about shit like that all the time. Yeah, they were setting her up. She wasn’t stupid.

She said, “Not safe. Will call ICE on me. No will go. Am saving money for baby”. She started to get up and walk away.

“Bitch, sit your dumb ass down. You can’t save enough turning fucking two-dollar tricks. You’re gonna need a doctor, a hospital, baby shots and shit. The woman at the office said you should be getting pre-care or some shit. If you need pre-care, you gonna need fucking post care. You and Terry didn’t plan this shit too well, did you? Thought you were gonna get over on a motherfucker, look at your dumb ass now. You’re fucking fucked, you stupid ass bitch,” Mickey said hotly. He hated her dumb ass.

Ian placed a hand on the back of Mickey’s neck and squeezed gently, “Calm down, Mick. We’ll work it out”. He hated putting Mickey through this shit, but he didn’t know what else to do. 

He looked at Svetlana, “He’s right. You can’t save enough money turning tricks. That’s why people have fucking health insurance. What did you and Terry think was gonna happen? Was he gonna kidnap a fucking doctor and hold him at gunpoint while he delivered your baby? Hold the hospital hostage or some shit? What was your fucking plan, Svetlana”?

“Marry, have baby was plan,” she said as she began to cry. She didn’t understand everything they were saying, but she did understand that her situation was fucked up. She understood that she was at the mercy of these two assholes. The two assholes that she fucking hated. Fuck them and their fucking plans. She couldn’t trust them. She couldn’t trust anyone.

Mickey huffed, “Dumb bitch. Is it too late for a fucking abortion? I heard about late-term abortions, maybe she can get one of those. I don’t even know how far along the bitch is. Bet she don’t know either. What the fuck ever. We can’t afford this shit, Ian”.

She clutched her belly protectively and shook her head fiercely, “No. Keep baby. My baby. No get rid”. She was sure that she didn’t want to be a mother, but the baby meant security for now. If she got an abortion, they would kick her out. This way she had time to save money and plan how to get even with them. Maybe she could sell the baby. She had heard that dumb Americans pay good money for white babies. But she had to have it before she could sell it.

Ian said, “Calm the fuck down, will you? We’re just talking, trying to figure this shit out. You don’t want an abortion, then you’re gonna apply for benefits. You gotta apply in person. That’s how the shit works. You can’t fucking bogard your way through the process like you’re used to doing. Terry left your bad ass in a pickle, didn’t he? Still gonna go visit him in prison? Let him know what you need? Get him to help your pathetic ass? Think he’ll be able to help you? Your whole thing was threatening Mickey by throwing Terry up in his fucking face. So, what you gonna do now, bitch? You need the fucking benefits. Like Mick said, you need to be seeing a fucking doctor now”.

She looked at Ian, tears rolling unchecked down her face. She figured, and rightly so, that Ian was her best bet. Stupid fucking boy scout. “Go with me, yes? Yes, go with me? I scared”.

“Hell, no, he ain’t going with your ass. It’s because of him you’re staying here rent free. Keeping all your fucking money. Go by your damn self. We wanna see how bad your ass is for real, bitch. You were throwing threats around, giving fucking orders not long ago. Now you’re too scared to go get help for your sorry ass and your brat? How ‘bout this, storm your ass up in there and tell the worker that you’ll tell Terry if they don’t do what you fucking say. How ‘bout that, bitch? Fuck you”.

Ian understood Mickey’s anger and hostility. He felt the same fucking way. He had threatened her ass with deportation, after all. But he had the luxury of objectivity, he hadn’t been raped by her and Terry. Mickey had. So, it was up to him to come up with a plan and hopefully Mickey would agree. This was his role now, so he embraced it. He would take care of them. He would take good care of Mickey.

He turned to Mickey and spoke softly, “Can we go talk for a minute, please? Take a little break, come back to it”?

Mickey rolled his eyes, “Whatever, man. I’m sick of this shit, and I’m sick of her ass. She makes me fucking sick”.  
He stormed out of the house, Ian got two beers and followed him to the front porch.

He opened Mickey’s beer and handed it to him, “Sorry you’re upset, Mickey. I love you”.

“Fuck ever, man. I love you, too. Just sick of this fucking situation. Just wanna leave this damn place. Start out new, just you and me”.

“I know, baby. I do, too. Just a little longer and we’re outta here, forever. But we wanna do right by her. She ain’t got no fucking body else, Mick. We want our conscience clear when we start our new life. We didn’t ask for this shit, but it was dumped on us. We just gotta shovel our way out, baby”. 

Mickey gave a short nod, “Guess you’re right. Fuck we gonna do”?

It made Ian proud that Mickey trusted him to make plans for them. He said, “We can both take a day off, go in late, whatever. Get this shit taken care of. Scratch it off our list. When we leave, we’ll know the baby’s being taken care of, has what it needs and shit. The rest is on her ass”. 

Mickey nodded, “Whatever you say, man. What day you thinking”? 

What sense did arguing make? Ian was determined to do the right fucking thing. What he thought was the right fucking thing, anyway. 

A few weeks later, after Svetlana left for work, they were counting their savings. The baby was due in a couple months, Svetlana was finally getting prenatal care.

“The brat is due in a couple months. How soon you think we can get the fuck outta this hell hole? I’m thinking, soon as it gets here, we get the fuck on,” Mickey said.

“How ‘bout we give it a month after the baby comes, just to be sure. That’ll give us time to really look at the job market, apply on line if we see anything we like. If we decide on Evanston we can go there, look at apartments, see what they got to offer, get a feel for the city. Shit like that. Or you got somewhere else in mind? Our funds look pretty good. Couple more months, we’ll be real good, baby. We’re doing this shit. Together, we can do anything, Mickey”.

Mickey had to rein his anger in. The fuck? Why was as Ian trying to make them stay here longer? The plan was to leave when the fucking baby came. Now he wants to stay a month longer? Fuck it. Nobody gave a fuck about what he thought about the fucking baby. His feelings didn’t matter. 

So, he said “Yeah, whatever. We got more saved than I thought. In a couple more months, we’ll be in good fucking shape. Get a decent apartment and shit. But, no more than three more months, Ian. I mean that shit, man”.

“I know you do, Mickey. We’ll leave in three months”. He just wanted to make sure everything was ok before they left, because they were not coming back to Chicago.

They hadn’t discussed their plans with anyone. Ian knew his family would be upset, but he expected them to be supportive. If not, oh, well. Kev’s help was all they really needed, and they knew they could depend on him.

Their plan was to continue paying the property taxes so that Svetlana and the baby could have a stable home. They would send money every month for the baby through Kev, and he would let them know if she wasn’t taking care of the baby properly. Rather, Kev would let Ian know because Mickey gave less than a fuck. 

Svetlana wouldn’t know where they were or how to contact them. They did not trust her. The rest of her livelihood was on her. They hadn’t told her they were leaving. They didn’t owe her shit. This was her fucking American dream, her reality.

In Ian’s mind, they were doing these things so that Mickey wouldn’t wake up one day and hate himself for abandoning his kid, if it was his fucking kid. He’ll always know that he did his best at the time, considering the fucked up circumstances. He couldn’t be expected to be a full-time loving father to a child of rape, until he was ready. If he was ever ready. Ian refused to allow that shit to be forced on him. If people didn’t understand, fuck them. They weren’t raped by Terry and Svetlana at fucking gun point. Mickey was. 

As far as Mickey was concerned, he was going with whatever Ian thought was the right thing to do. Deep down, he knew that Ian was doing what he thought was best. The best thing for everyone. 

Ian held him whenever he woke up thrashing and sobbing in the throes of a fucking nightmare about that fucking day. 

Ian coaxed him back to reality when his mind wandered to dark, dangerous places. When he thought he was losing his fucking mind, Ian promised him that he wasn’t. 

Ian told him that what he was feeling was normal. 

Ian held him close and whispered that it wasn’t his fucking fault, assured him that he didn’t do a damn thing to deserve to be raped at gun point by his fucking father and a two-bit, skank whore. 

Yeah, he was going with whatever Ian said. Ian was his fucking safe place. Ian would always take care of him. Ian would never leave him. Ian would never turn his back on him. Ian loved him. He trusted Ian.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian questions his ability to make good decisions.
> 
> Ian and Mickey have an ally.
> 
> Mickey's distrust of Svetlana grows, he takes measures to ensure his and Ian's safety.
> 
> Svetlana's becomes more bitter.

Ian trudged his way home from the EL after his shift at the supermarket. He had been working nights for a month now. At first, he thought his extreme fatigue was because of the shift change from days to evenings. At least, he had hoped it was something that simple. Something fucking normal, for once. But it was getting worse instead of better. 

He knew that he needed to make an appointment at the clinic, get his fucking pills adjusted. The clinic had a sliding fee scale which helped a lot, but they still had to pay for his damn pills every month. He didn’t want to spend the extra money on a clinic visit if he didn’t need to. They were saving every penny they could spare for their move. He had to get Mickey away from here.

Mickey was already dealing with so much shit. He pretended to be fine, but Ian knew better. He was there for the horrible nightmares. No fucking way could Mickey be fine living in the house with his fucking rapist, watching the baby he didn’t want, grow inside her. Everything is so fucked up already, and here he was, adding to Mickey’s problems. His fucking useless, broken brain. His fucking expensive pills. 

He wasn’t helping Mickey, he was weighing him down with his problems. What if his plan was all wrong? What if it was doing more fucking harm than good? What if he was fucking Mickey up more? Mickey was so vulnerable right now, he didn’t need to be saddled with Ian’s crazy ass. He wanted to be strong for Mickey, just once. He couldn’t even do that. He was fucking useless. 

He knew where these negative thoughts were headed, but he couldn’t stop them. He couldn’t even control his own fucking thoughts. 

How could he be sure his plan was the right thing for Mickey? He couldn’t be sure. He decided then and there that he couldn’t be trusted, he was a fucking burden. He wanted Mickey to be free. He crossed the street and slowly headed in the opposite direction. 

Mickey was pacing the porch frantically. Ian was almost an hour late. He always called when he was working over. He was about to shoot off a text when Ian called. 

He answered quickly, “Hey tough guy. Was about to text you. Standing out here waiting for your ass. Working late”?   
“Hey. Nah. Just a little tired. Sorry I worried you. I’m at Fiona’s,” Ian said.  
“Why? Something going on over there?” Mickey asked. Fucking Gallaghers. Always some shit.  
“Nah. Just thought I’d stay here for a while. A few days, week or so”.  
Mickey’s heart dropped to his stomach, he sat on the top step, “The fuck for, man? Did I do something wrong? Talk to me, Ian”.  
“No, baby, you’re perfect. It’s me, Mickey. Not feeling so good. Don’t want to put you through this shit. You deserve more than a crazy ass boyfriend dragging you down,” he said, voice breaking.  
“Fuck you, Ian. Your home is here. With me. I take care of you. You belong to me, I take care of you. Sickness and health, all that shit. You’re coming the fuck home. I’m bringing your ass home. I don’t give a fuck what’s wrong with you, I want you home. I’m on my fucking way. Be ready, Ian”, he had started walking before he even disconnected the call. He broke into a full run.

Ian sat on the couch holding his phone. He hadn’t been able to make it upstairs to his old bedroom, he’d sat on the sofa to rest first. It didn’t matter now, Mickey was coming for him. Mickey wanted him home. Mickey was coming for him. Coming to take him home. He leaned his head back and fell asleep instantly.

Mickey skidded to a stop outside the house. He took a deep breath and took the steps two at a time. He knocked sharply and walked in. Fuckers never locked the fucking door. 

Fiona rushed in from the kitchen, “Mickey, he came home. This is where he wants to be. With his family. When he feels better, we’ll see what he wants to do. Until then, he stays here”.

“I’m his fucking family and I’m taking him home. He came here ‘cause he thought it was too much for me. Well, it’s not. Nothing is too much for me when it comes to him. I’m taking him home,” he said.

“I said no. Don’t make me call the fucking cops. You need to leave,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Call whoever the fuck you wanna call. I’m taking Ian home, and fuck you,” he spat.

He walked over to the sofa and sat down next to Ian, “Ian, baby. Can you wake up for me? Tell your sister you’re going home before I lock her ass up in one of these fucking rooms”.

Ian stirred and opened his tired, bloodshot eyes, “Mickey. You came”.

“Yeah, I came. Fuck’s wrong with you? I’ll always come for you. Tell your crazy ass sister you’re going home”.

Ian struggled to sit up, “I’m going home, Fiona. Sorry for the trouble, but I’m going home with Mick”.

“Ian, I think you should stay here. He doesn’t know how to take care of you. You’ll stay here with your family”.

Mickey ignored Fiona, “Uber will be here in 15, baby. Want some juice or something while we wait? Got dinner ready for you, tried that fucking meatloaf recipe, tastes pretty good,” he said, holding Ian tight, as if to prevent Fiona from taking him away.

“I’ll get him some juice, man,” Carl said. He came downstairs when he heard the loud voices.

“Thanks, man,” Mickey said, as he kissed Ian’s forehead and wiped a lone tear away.

“Ian, you need to stay here. I don’t give a fuck what Mickey says. He don’t run shit up in here,” Fiona snapped.

Carl gave the juice to Mickey, “Here you go, man. Fiona, shut the fuck up. Leave them alone. Ian wants to go home. Fuck’s wrong with you”?

Mickey took the glass and held it while Ian took a few sips, “Good, tough guy. Need to piss before we go”?

Ian laughed, “Nah. Think I can wait. Not a fucking invalid, asshole”.

“Fuck ever. Your ass came to the fucking wrong house. Might have dementia or some shit,” Mickey joked. 

“That’s not funny, Mickey. Ian’s not leaving here, and I mean it. You think it’s all a fucking joke,” Fiona shouted.

Ian struggled to sit up, rolling his eyes at Mickey, “Fuck you, Mickey”. 

Then he looked at his sister and spoke softly, but firmly, “Fiona, stop. He knows how fucking serious this is, believe me, he knows. He lived with it. He was there for the fucking bad parts. Now, I’m going home. Sorry I got you all worked up, should’ve called Mick before I came here. Wasn’t thinking clear and shit. Now calm down, please”.

She huffed, “Still think you’re making a fucking mistake”.

Mickey had enough, “Fuck what you think. Uber’s here, fucking finally. Had enough of your fucking mouth. Carl, get the door will you, man”? He gently gathered Ian in his arms and carried him outside and put him in the car.

When the car pulled up to the house, Ian said, “I can make it inside, Mickey. Just gotta take it slow”.

“Whatever you want, baby. We take it as slow as you want”. He knew how important Ian’s independence was to him.

They finally made it inside and Mickey said, “You sit down. I’ll bring our food in here, we’ll turn in early, get a good night’s rest. How’s that”?

Ian looked up at him and suddenly burst into tears, scaring the fuck out of Mickey. He picked him up and carried him to their room. He didn’t want that bitch anywhere near Ian when he was like this.

He gently laid him on the bed, “Baby, don’t cry. What’s wrong? I got you. It’s alright, Ian. I love you. We’re fine, baby, we’re fucking fine”.

Ian was trying to catch his breath, “So fucking tired, Mick. Trying so hard to be strong for you. Wanna be the strong one, take care of you for once. I’m just a fucking waste, so damn useless” he sobbed.

“Baby, you’re strong. You’re the strongest, bravest motherfucker I know. You always take good care of me. You got rid of fucking Terry, we got a solid plan to get the fuck outta here because of you, Ian. I love you so much. I got you, you got me…,” he paused abruptly, ears perking up. 

Signaling Ian to be quiet, Mickey jumped up and jerked the bedroom door open causing Svetlana to stumble into the room. She fell into him, grabbing his shirt to steady herself. He roughly shoved her off, “Get the fuck off me, bitch. Fuck you doing listening at our fucking door?” he demanded.

She landed hard on her ass and glared up at Mickey, “No listen. Walk by. You hurt baby,” she said, attempting to deflect attention from herself, knowing that there was no reason for her to walk past their door.

“Fuck you and fuck baby, bitch. You were trying to hear what we were saying. You never fucking learn, do you? You always think you’re so fucking smart. When you realize that you’re the dumbest whore to ever walk the fucking south side, things might get better for your bumbling ass. Get your ass up and get the fuck outta here before I kick your sorry ass outta this house. What you gonna do then, huh”?

She held her hand out for Mickey to help her up, he looked at her and snarled, “Crawl bitch. Scoot for all I fucking care, but you better get the fuck outta here, or I’ll put your ass outta this house tonight”. 

She looked over at Ian, “He hurts me, hurts baby”. 

Ian couldn’t believe her fucking nerve, no trace of shame. She was caught eavesdropping on them. Bitch. This is all his fault. His stupid fucking plan.

As tired as he was, he forced himself to sit up, “You heard him. Can’t get up? Scoot, bitch. Me and Mick, we speak as one”. He was too tired for this shit.

She knew that Ian was stupid when it came to some things. He believed in doing the right thing. Stupid fucking boy scout. Americans are so fucking dumb.

She tried again, “He hurts baby. Can’t get up,” hoping she sounded pitiful.

Ian knew the bitch thought she was playing him, he was fucking sick of her ass, “Mick, baby, hand me my phone, please. Gonna call the cops, get them to come get her ass off the fucking floor. Pretty sure they got a place for her undocumented, pregnant ass”. 

He was so pathetic, he couldn’t even sound threatening. It was his fault that she thought she could walk all over them. It was all his fucking fault. 

But he got his point across. She shook her head furiously, “No. No cops. I get up. I get up now. No hurt. I fine,” she said as she scrambled to scoot over to the wall and pulled herself up easily.

“Damn. Whore can hustle her big ass when she’s got a reason,” Mickey said scornfully.

“Fuck you,” she snarled, storming out.

Ian fell back onto the pillows, clearly exhausted. He looked at Mickey in defeat, “Mick, I think keeping her here is the wrong thing. I’m so fucking sorry. This is all my fault,” he sobbed.

Mickey was furious, that bitch had upset Ian more. He sat on the bed, pulled Ian into his arms and shushed him, “Baby, don’t cry. You don’t got a fucking thing to be sorry about. She’s a rank ass bitch. You’re looking out for her fucking baby, not her. It’s gonna be ok. I got you, baby. Please stop crying, gonna make yourself sick”.

After dinner, Mickey ran a tub of mildly hot water, just the way Ian liked it. He used Ian’s favorite bubble bath and tenderly bathed him. Ian relaxed and basked in the attention, so thankful that Mickey loved him, even though he didn’t deserve it. Mickey helped him out of the tub, wrapped him in a towel and carried him to bed. 

As he helped Ian into clean boxers, he wondered how to broach the subject of a medication review. He didn’t want to upset him, but they had to talk about it, “Baby, I think we need to go to the fucking clinic, get the dosage checked out and shit. I’m thinking we go first thing in the morning, before it gets too busy. What you think”? 

Ian started crying again, he was too damn tired to sit up, “Mick, I just wanna sleep. I’ll feel better tomorrow. We’re trying to save money to get outta here. We can’t miss work. We need the money”.

“I know all that, baby, and I know the signs when you’re having a fucking episode. We need to check it out before it gets too bad. None of that other shit matters to me if you’re not ok, baby. You gotta know that, Ian. You’re the only fucking thing in the world that matters to me. Let me take care of you. Please”.

Ian sighed tiredly, “Ok. Fucking fine, I’ll go. Not letting you miss work, though. That’s why I went to Fiona’s. Bad enough I’m gonna be missing days,” he said, eyelids drooping.

Mickey kissed him tenderly, “That’s right, baby. Get some rest. I love you”.

Mickey sat on the front porch smoking long after Ian fell asleep. He didn’t give a fuck what Ian said. He was going to the fucking clinic with him tomorrow and he was gonna stay home with him until he felt better. No way was he leaving Ian sick and alone with that bitch. No fucking way. If it was up to him, he’d kick that bitch out tonight.

He sat out there thinking about their fucked up situation. He decided that they needed to protect themselves from Svetlana. 

He went inside and went straight to her room and kicked the door open, “Wake the fuck up, bitch”.

She bolted up, looking around frantically, nearly falling out of the bed, “What!! What happen? Fire? What?” she asked, heart pounding furiously, trying to catch her breath.

“Shut the fuck up and listen. You keep fucking with us, I’ma hurt you. I don’t give a fuck about you or your fucking baby. You been warned. And just so you know, doubt I’d wake your ass up if there was a fucking fire,” he said as he stormed out, slamming the door. 

The next morning, Ian refused breakfast, but he did drink a glass of milk with his pills. He didn’t have the energy to ask Mickey why he wasn’t at work. He just wanted to rest for a bit, then he’d get dressed and head to the clinic. 

Mickey sat on the bed next to him, “Baby, I called the store, told them you’d be out for a while. Told them I’d bring whatever paperwork they need. I called Sully, told him I’d be off for a few days. Let’s get you dressed, and I’ll call an Uber”.

Ian didn’t argue, he was just glad that he wouldn’t have to walk to the fucking EL, he wouldn’t be able to make it. He was glad Mickey was going with him. Glad Mickey was taking care of him. He looked at Mickey helplessly as tears slid down his cheeks. Mickey leaned over, kissing the tears away and murmuring promises of his everlasting love.

When they got back from the clinic, Mickey carried Ian into the house, undressed him and put him to bed. “Baby, I’m gonna pick up your script and stop at Walmart for a minute. You want me to bring you anything?” he asked.

“I’m good, Mick”.

“Ok. Won’t be long. Get some rest. I love you, baby”.

A couple hours later, Mickey walked into the living room with an armful of bags to find Svetlana sitting on the sofa watching TV. He ignored her and went to check on Ian. He was curled in a ball, sleeping peacefully.

On his way to the kitchen, Svetlana asked, “He sick? Crazy sick again”?

He walked over to her, “Call him crazy again, bitch. Go on, do it. I don’t give a fuck about you being pregnant. You need to understand something, I ain’t no decent motherfucker like Ian. I know motherfuckers who’ll cut that fucking baby outta your ass. They will kill your ass and bury it. You better back the fuck up off him,” he said in a menacing voice.

She knew the Milkovich’s reputation. She swallowed noisily, “Just question, is sick? I help”?

Mickey snarled, “Fuck you. Stay the fuck away from him,” he said, walking away. 

Svetlana watched him walk away, wondering if she had underestimated him. He was Terry’s son after all. He was nothing like the scared bitch he had been when Terry was around. She decided that she needed leverage. She was not gonna let them win, but she had to be careful. She had to outsmart them. 

Later that afternoon, Mickey woke Ian and gave him his pills. He was happy when Ian drank a full glass of OJ, “Good job, baby. Need me to help you to the bathroom? Then you can rest, ok”?

Ian nodded and tried to sit up, but fell back against the pillows, tears glistening on his eyelids. Mickey kissed him tenderly, “Want me to carry you, baby? I know you’re tired. You been so good today, you try so fucking hard. Can I carry you?” Mickey asked.

Ian nodded. Mickey carried him in, helped him onto the toilet, then carried him back to bed. “Ok baby. You rest now, not gonna bother you for a while. Got you some ice cream for later. I love you”.

He was asleep before Mickey finished speaking.

Mickey closed the door softly and went to the kitchen to find Svetlana going through his bags. He quirked an eyebrow at her, she jumped back and scurried away.

He laid out the tools he needed, then he found the power drill Iggy had stolen from somewhere years ago. He had read over the instructions for everything before he made his purchases, so he was ready to go.   
He started in the kitchen because he didn’t want to disturb Ian. He put locks on most of the cabinets, leaving two for Svetlana’s use. 

He read over the instructions for the alarm again and began the installation on his bedroom door. Svetlana wondered about the noise, but she was afraid to ask him what he was doing. 

The noise did wake Ian up, however, “Mickey? Mick? What’re you doing”?

Mickey shut the door, sat down and smoothed Ian’s hair off his forehead, “I don’t trust that bitch, Ian. We don’t know what the fuck she does when we leave. I put locks on the cabinets we gonna be using. Now I’m installing a hidden alarm on our door. Hopefully the bitch’ll try to get in here and it’ll scare the shit outta her. I just don’t trust her. Instead of being grateful for what you’re doing for her, the bitch is fucking resentful, man. She hates our asses”.

Ian nodded and closed his eyes. Mickey kissed him softly and sat there looking at him. I love you so much. You’re so good, so sweet. Gonna take care of you, baby. I’ll kill that bitch if she does anything to hurt you. I will fucking kill her.

He left the room, closing the door softly. He thought about taking the paperwork to Ian’s job, but he didn’t want to leave him alone. 

He sat on the front porch steps drinking beer and smoking. Svetlana stood inside the door, “Lock food?” she asked.

He didn’t bother to turn around, “We buy our food, you buy yours. That’s the fucking deal”. 

She rolled her eyes as she walked away. Fuck your faggot ass, was supposed to be my husband. Supposed to be family, Terry promised. Ian fucked everything up. Now this is his house, not mine. He ruined my American dream. All his fucking fault. I’ll get him, I’ll get you, too. You’ll see. She had no idea he had installed an alarm on his bedroom door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Svetlana crosses a line.
> 
> Mickey examines his feelings privately.

Ian went back to work after a week. His manager arranged for him to work the day shift permanently after he learned that Ian was bipolar. His wife was bipolar, so he understood the disease very well, plus Ian was his best employee. Mickey had gone back to work a couple days earlier than Ian. 

Svetlana’s anger had been simmering since Mickey put locks on the kitchen cabinets and the fucking mailbox. She knew he did something in the bedroom, but she didn’t know what. The bedroom door looked the same, no new locks or anything. Maybe he put a new lock on the closet door where they kept their money. That was probably it. She would check. 

She had heard them talking about leaving Chicago, and she wanted to know where they were going. She made a habit of searching their room at least once a week. She never found any details about the move, but she did steal a few of Ian’s crazy pills. She couldn’t take too many at once, because she didn’t want him to get suspicious. She didn’t know what she was going to do with them, but they might come in handy one day. Just like their damn laptop. 

One of her customers told her to bring the laptop and he would search the history for her. She didn’t know what that even meant, but it was worth a try. He seemed to know what he was talking about. She was going to meet the fat, filthy, sweaty fucker in an hour. 

She let him fuck her in the ass last night, and she was going to let him do it again tonight, then he would tell her what he found. She checked the time, satisfied that she would have enough time to get the laptop back before the two idiots came home. They thought they were so fucking smart.

She walked over to their bedroom door and looked around, even though she knew she was alone in the house. She reached out and turned the door knob. 

A loud whirring sound blasted, lights started flashing, the noise got louder and louder, piercing her eardrums. She jumped back in alarm, stumbled over her own feet and fell to the floor, landing hard on her side. She felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her belly and her left side. 

She writhed on the floor in agony. The noise. What is it? Too loud. It wouldn’t stop, lights kept flashing. Why won’t it stop? What is it? She lay there writhing and groaning, alternating between covering her ears and clutching her belly. Noise. Lights. Stop. Please stop. Hurt. Need help. It was driving her mad. She wanted to run, but she couldn’t get up. She was trapped. 

She lay there sobbing in misery for over an hour before Mickey sauntered in with his hands in his pockets.

He stood there grinning maliciously at her, “Told you to leave our shit alone, bitch. Nah, you think your ass is so fucking slick, now this is happening. Damn that shit’s loud. How long has it been doing that?” he asked with mock sympathy. 

He knew exactly when the alarm went off, his phone had notified him. 

He shook his head, “Got yourself in another fucked up situation, huh? Need me to help your ass, don’t you? Always trying to fuck us around, but you’re the bitch that gets fucked every fucking time. Your dumb ass don’t learn shit. You got a fucking brain defect or something bitch? You’re one sorry ass whore, I set a trap and your ass can’t wait to fall in it. Belly first, huh bitch?” he taunted, studying her as if she were an insect, he was mildly interested in.

She lay there alternating between holding her ears and her belly. The noise was starting to get to him, so he walked over and disarmed it, “Damn. That’s better. Now, bitch, the fuck were you after? Money? Laptop? Fuck it, I wouldn’t believe your lying ass anyway”. 

“Need doctor. Please. You help me, Mickey?” she pleaded. 

“Fuck you. I’ll call 911. The rest is on you. You’re the bright motherfucker ‘round here,” he said.

“You come? Hospital?”

“Fuck no. You’re on your own, bitch. Want me to call them or not?” he asked.

“Help to bed? Lay down. Maybe stop? Please?” she looked at him, blinking back tears.

“Above my pay grade. I ain’t no fucking medical professional”. 

Just then his phone beeped. Ian.

“Hey,” Mickey said.

“Hey. What up? What time you getting home?” Ian asked.

“Already here. This bitch was trying to break into our room. Alarm went off, scared the fuck outta her,” Mickey said with an evil grin.

“She ok?” Ian asked.

“Fuck if I know. I found her ass laying on the floor moaning and shit. Asked her if she wants 911. Wants me to go with her”.

“Yeah. Good idea if you found her on the floor. Probably good to check shit out. I’ll meet you there”.

“Man, I ain’t going nowhere with this bitch and you ain’t either. She is on her own. Told her I’ll call, but that’s it. She wants me to help her to bed. Might do that, might not. Still making up my mind ‘bout that shit. Bitch needs to go to the school of hard knocks, she don’t fucking learn shit easy”.

“Mick, did you check for blood or anything?” Ian asked worriedly.

“Fucking. Hell. No. Ian. And I ain’t gonna fucking check for blood. This bitch is doing all she can to hurt us, man. Fuck’s wrong with you”? 

Ian was becoming more and more alarmed, “Mickey, she could hemorrhage, lose the fucking baby and shit”.

“How’s that our fucking problem, Ian? She did the shit to herself. What business she got in our fucking room, huh? 

Don’t she know if she’s fucking bleeding? She’s the pregnant one.”

“Ask her, Mick”.

“Bitch, Ian wants to know if you’re bleeding? I don’t know what the fuck he’s gonna do about it. What I said, fucking stands. We ain’t going nowhere with your skank ass. You fucking bleeding or not”?

She shook her head, wishing Ian was the one here with her. She knew that Mickey meant what he said. “No blood. Bed. Lay down. Feel better,” she said.

“Says she ain't bleeding, man”.

Ian sounded relieved, “Good. Good. Help her to bed, Mick”.

“Fuck her. Made up my mind ‘bout that. No. I’ll get her a blanket and a pillow. I ain’t touching her ass. You want her up, you get her up. She’ll be fucking fine till your ass gets here, or not. I don’t give a fuck either way,” he said, disconnecting the call.

He went to her room, grabbed the filthy blanket and the thin pillow off her bed. As he was leaving, something on the dresser caught his eye.   
He backed up, dropping the pillow and blanket on the floor. He snatched up a baggie with four familiar looking pills. Ian’s fucking pills. His old pills, before his prescription changed. He knew they were his pills. This motherfucking sleazy bitch. He was gonna kill her. Right fucking now.

He stormed out of the room and stopped in front of her, holding the baggie up, “The fuck, bitch”?

She looked at the pills. Fuck. Fuck. He was going to kill her for sure. She shook her head, “Don’t know. Not mine. Terry? His room. Not mine. Help me up? Not mine”. Shit. Why didn’t she hide them? He was going to kill her. He was gonna kill her, and she couldn’t help herself.

Mickey reached down to grab her, and she screamed, “Please!! No, Mickey! No! Don’t kill me. Ian not want you kill me. You go jail, leave Ian here. Ian need you. Sick. He sick, Mickey. Ian sick”. 

Ian’s face flashed before his eyes. He took a deep breath and knelt down in front of her and took two pills out, “Open your fucking mouth, bitch. You stole ‘em, you wanted ‘em, you’re gonna take ‘em. Open you’re fucking mouth. You don’t want me to open it for you”. 

“I not crazy. Don’t want. For crazy, hurt baby. No take. No make me take. Is wrong,” she begged. Where is Ian? She needed Ian to help her. Why did she even fuck with those pills?

“Bitch, open your fucking mouth. Not gonna tell you again”.

She swallowed noisily, shaking her head furiously. He wouldn’t do this, would he? He was Terry’s fucking son. Yes, he would do this. 

Mickey grabbed her head, forced her mouth open, stuffed the two pills in. He forced her lips together, jabbed her throat with his finger, making her swallow repeatedly before he shoved her head away from him.

She coughed and gagged, terrified about what could happen to her, to her baby.

“Call, I go. Hospital. I go now”, she panted. She was terrified. He was crazy, just like Terry.

He looked down at her with pure hatred in his ice blue eyes. He wanted to bash her fucking face in. 

“Fuck you. Still got two more to go, bitch,” he snarled, as he turned and stomped away. He had to get away from her now, or he would surely kill her ass. 

He sat on the front porch smoking, hands shaking violently. The fuck did she want with Ian’s pills? Was she trying to poison him? Is that why he had the fucking episode? Was she selling them, maybe? He considered going in there and forcing her to tell him. Nah, he was too mad, probably end up killing her ass. Better to leave her alone till Ian gets here.

When he felt calm enough, he went inside to get a beer. She appeared to be sleeping, she could be dead for all he cared. He started to sound the alarm just for the hell of it. Scare the fuck out of her ass again. Instead, he rolled his eyes, got his beer, and left her to it.

She kept her eyes closed until she was sure he was gone. When he left her the first time, she tried sticking her finger down her throat, hoping to vomit, but nothing came up. She finally gave up. So far, she was just really drowsy. Maybe she’d be alright.

She didn’t know who she was madder at, him or herself. How the fuck was she supposed to know he had rigged the fucking door? But, why didn’t she hide those fucking pills? She wanted Ian to come home, he wouldn’t let Mickey make her take the other two pills. No. He would worry about baby with his stupid boy scout ass. Mickey was mean, he didn’t give a fuck about the baby. She fucking hated him, and she hated Ian. Terry was going to kill them when he got out and she was going to help him.  
She got even madder when she thought about letting that slimy, fat fucker fuck her in the ass, and she didn’t get shit for it. He sure wasn’t gonna pay her after the fact. Another thing to blame those two assholes for. 

Mickey sat on the porch watching Ian make his way down the street, his long, easy stride slower than normal. He knew that Ian was still struggling, but he insisted he was fine. He also knew that the fucking stress they were living under triggered Ian’s last episode. But, was that all there was to it? The clinic drew blood to check his Lithium levels, they would call if they found something wrong. Wouldn’t they?   
No matter how hard Ian tried, something always knocked him on his ass. But he always jumped the fuck back up, ready to fucking try again. He was Mickey’s fucking hero. He always fought for something better for himself and for Mickey. He never left Mickey behind, never forgot about him. Sometimes Ian had to drag him, kicking and screaming, but he didn’t leave him behind. Mickey loved him so much, needed him so much. Ian was his fucking reason. His reason for everything. He would kill for Ian.

When Ian reached the house, Mickey smiled, “Hey tough guy. What up”?

He sat down, “You, Mick. You’re what up. Always you”.

When Ian sat down, Mickey’s suspicions were confirmed. Ian was exhausted. Otherwise, he would’ve gone inside to check on that bitch. 

“Let me get you a glass of juice and we’ll have a cigarette,” Mickey said, getting up. He wanted Ian to relax before he told him about the fucking pills. 

“Nah, Mickey. I’m going in. Just wanted to sit with you for a minute,” he said, starting to get up slowly.

Mickey placed a hand on his shoulder, “I wanna smoke, talk to you and shit. I missed you, man. It’s nice out here. Be right back”. 

He hurried inside, pulling the baggie out of his pocket. He didn’t want Ian involved in this shit. He walked over to Svetlana and squatted, “Open your fucking mouth, bitch,” he snarled, grabbing her head and forcing her mouth open. He forced the pills down her throat and clamped her mouth shut before she could react. She swallowed reflexively. He forced her mouth open, checking the back of her throat, and under her tongue. Satisfied, he dropped her head and walked away. 

Ian sat there catching his breath while he waited for Mickey. He knew that Mickey was giving him a chance to rest. He always knew what Ian needed. Always looked out for him. He leaned back and smiled, thinking how lucky he was to be loved by Mickey Milkovich. 

But he needed to see about Svetlana. He knew Mickey wouldn’t hurt her, but he wouldn’t help her ass either, unless the fucking situation was dire. He wondered, not for the first time, if he was causing Mickey more harm by keeping them here until after the baby was born. Maybe he and Mickey should just pack their shit and fucking leave. Let that bitch fend for her damn self and her baby.   
He would talk to Mickey about it again tonight. He was certain that Mickey didn’t want to talk about it right now. He was still pissed off about her trying to get into their room. Thing is, Ian had been falling asleep as soon as his head hit the fucking pillow. Well, tonight he would force himself to sit up until they talked about changing their plan.

Mickey came out grinning with a tall glass of ice cold OJ and a bowl of fruit for Ian, a beer and a bowl of chips for himself. Ian smiled his thanks and drank half the juice in one go. 

Mickey quirked a brow and smirked, “Thirsty much”?

Ian grinned, “Yeah, I was. Thanks. It’s so good coming home to you, Mick. You make it all worthwhile”.

Mickey smiled shyly, “Fuck you, man”.

Ian took a large bite of an apple, “She still on the floor or did you help her up”?

“Man, I told you I wasn’t helping her ass up. She’s ok I guess, I don’t fucking know, and I really don’t give a fuck. Fuck her”.

“Ok baby. Calm the fuck down. Gonna go in and see about her,” Ian said, starting to get up again.

Mickey put a hand on his knee, “Sit down, Ian. I know you’re tired. Eat your fucking fruit, enjoy the fucking weather or some shit. We’ll go in later. She ain’t going no fucking where. Be good if she does get her ass up, though. You won’t have to deal with her”.

Ian sighed, sat back and finished his apple, then grabbed a banana. Mickey smiled at him happily and stuffed his own mouth with chips. 

Svetlana listened hard, she thought she heard Ian’s voice before Mickey came in. Why didn’t Ian come inside? Maybe Mickey wouldn’t let him? She was feeling woozy, she was soaked in sweat, her stomach was churning, the baby was jabbing her, and she had to pee. The pain in her side was almost gone, thank goodness. But she was worried about all those crazy pills Mickey made her take. She had to get to her bed. Maybe she could get up by her damn self. Fuck them. 

She scooted over to the wall, using it for support she got up on her knees and slowly pulled herself up. She stumbled along the wall and almost made it to the bathroom before she fell. Shit, she almost made it, she thought as she blacked out. 

They heard the noise. Ian jumped up, “Thought she was sleeping? She must’ve woke up and tried to get up,” he said, rushing inside.

Mickey got up and followed him inside. Maybe the bitch is dead. Sure hope so. But he knew those four pills were not enough to kill her ass. He knew all about pills and shit. 

Ian was sitting on the floor holding her head, “Svetlana, can you hear me? Wake up”.

He looked up at Mickey, “Mick she’s going in and out of consciousness. We should call 911,” he said frantically.

“Whatever, man. Call ‘em if you wanna, but ain’t shit wrong with her ass. Just needs to sleep it off”, Mickey said dismissively.

“What? Sleep what off”?

Mickey leaned against the wall, “I found some of your fucking pills in her room when I went to get the blanket for her ass. I made her take ‘em. She wanted ‘em bad enough to steal ‘em so I made her ass take ‘em”.

Ian looked at him in alarm, then he looked at her, “What”?

Mickey rolled his eyes, “I said she stole your fucking pills, so I made her ass take ‘em”.

“Mickey!! Fuck! How many pills did you give her”?

“Four”.  
“Maybe she needs her stomach pumped?” Ian asked.  
“Fuck if I know. Probably just needs to sleep the shit off. Do what you wanna do, man,” he huffed, walking away.

Ian sat there in mild shock. What the fuck? Why did she have his pills in the first damn place? Was she trying to get high? Fuck. He picked her up, carried her to her bed and dumped her in, and walked out. What the fuck?

He found Mickey in the kitchen putting their dinner on the table, “Got a rotisserie chicken, know how much you like this shit. Potatoes will be ready soon. Go wash up,” he said as he prepared the rolls for the oven.  
Ian stood there looking at him, he didn’t know where to start. Shit. He decided to do as he was told. 

That night, they were getting ready for bed when Ian finally asked, “Mick, the fuck happened”?  
“She had four of your pills in this baggie on her dresser. I made her swallow all of ‘em,” he said, showing him the bag. 

Ian looked at the baggie, “But why? What was she gonna do with them? Get high or some shit”?  
“I’m sure she was gonna try to hurt you. That’s all I need to fucking know”.   
“Yeah. But how? Was she gonna swap ‘em out or something?” Ian asked.  
“I don’t fucking know, Ian. All I know is that I wanted to bash her fucking face in. Almost did, and the bitch said your name just in time”.  
Ian was terrified, “You could’ve killed her, Mick”.  
“Think I fucking care, huh? She was trying to hurt you”.  
“Shit. Ok. I think she’ll be ok, just gotta sleep it off. Gonna check on her again before I go to sleep,” Ian said.  
“Fuck ever, man. Fuck her skank ass”.

As tired as he was, Ian wasn’t sleepy. He was too agitated. Mickey could’ve killed that bitch. Then, where would they be? All their fucking plans would be for nothing. This was his damn fault. His stupid fucking plan was going to get Mickey in trouble. 

“Mickey do you think we should just leave? We got some money saved, not as much as we planned, but I think we can make it. I think we should just get the fuck outta here. That baby doesn’t have to be our responsibility. When we get jobs, get situated, we can start sending her money like we planned. Or not. We don’t have to do shit. Forget about her ass. We need to get the fuck away from her. I’m scared, Mickey”. 

“Thought we had it all worked out? We got what, 3 more months? I mean, we go whenever you want, man. I’m with you”. 

Mickey knew that Ian was scared he would kill that bitch. As long as she stayed the fuck away and didn’t try to hurt Ian, she would stay alive. It was on her. Fucking simple as that. They had discussed their plan, set goals and shit. They had a shot at a decent life. He felt hopeful for once in his shitty life. 

Ian considered his words carefully, “Mick, I don’t think it’s healthy for us, especially you, to be in the same house with her. She’s fucking toxic, baby. Always sneaking around and shit, we can’t trust her ass. I’m scared for you. I can’t make it without you”.

“Don’t worry, baby. Pretty sure she got the fucking message. We won’t have no more trouble outta her ass. She knows now that I’m a dangerous motherfucker, and she don’t wanna fuck with me. She thought she was dealing with the pussy that let himself be raped. She finally met the real Mickey. Plus, we’re almost there. Your plan is fucking solid. I don’t wanna get there and have to struggle if we don’t have to. I want a nice apartment for you, money to tide us over while we look for jobs, money for your pills, healthy food for you. I want you to be comfortable, Ian. Comfortable and healthy. No sense leaving one shithole for something worse. Now, if you really wanna leave, we’re outta here. No fucking problem”.

He knew Ian was getting sleepy, he kept glancing at his pillow, and he was trying to stifle his yawns. “Baby, you’re tired. Get in bed, we can talk some more tomorrow. Come on, lay down. Let me hold you,” Mickey said.  
Ian tried to protest, “Mickey, I don’t want you here if it’s hurting you, harming you to have to look at her all the fucking time. You’ve been through enough, baby. We can make it work, we can do anything together”.  
Mickey kissed him softly, when he removed his lips, Ian was asleep with a smile on his beautiful face, making Mickey smile.

He lay there thinking, listening to Ian’s soft snores. Yes, he wanted to get the fuck away from that bitch. He wanted them both away from her. But he didn’t want to take Ian somewhere and not have the money to take care of him properly. The university sponsored a free clinic, but what if there was a long waiting list, a residency requirement or some shit? They needed money, just in case. He refused to move Ian into a rat infested, shithole. They needed a decent apartment. He told Ian that he would always take care of him and he meant that shit. He could put up with that bitch for Ian’s well-being. Wouldn’t be that much longer. They could make it, then they’d never have to see her ass again. 

None of this shit was Ian’s fucking fault. If they left tomorrow, Mickey would still be ashamed of himself because of what happened. He knows that he didn’t want to fuck that bitch, but the fact is, his fucking dick was hard, and he ejaculated. Ian had showed him some studies where guys might not be aroused, but they get a fucking erection when they’re scared and shit. Well, he had been fucking terrified, that’s for fucking sure. He understood what the so called ‘professionals’ were saying, but he was still ashamed of himself. He couldn’t control his own fucking dick. What kind of shit is that? He wondered how Ian could still want him after watching that shit.

Then, there was the baby. He was raped at gun point by his fucking father and a whore, and the man he loved was forced to sit there and watch the shit. The fuck? It didn’t stop there. Fuck no, they weren’t done with his ass yet. They were gonna make him marry the bitch and accept the baby from the rape and live fucking happily ever after. The Fucking End.  
Ian got him out of the marriage bullshit. But even he thinks that Mickey owes the baby something. Some shit about Mickey not having fucking regrets later. Hell, he’s got fucking regrets right fucking now. They all acted like he didn’t deserve a choice in any of the shit. He was forced to fuck someone he didn’t want to fuck, and now he’s being forced to accept responsibility for a child he will never, ever want.   
He loathes the thought of the child. He supposes that makes him a horrible person, because the kid is innocent. Hell, so is he. He didn’t ask for any of it and nobody asked him how he fucking felt about any of it. Every fucking body assumes they’re doing what’s fucking best. Best for who? They all act like he’s not a fucking person, that he don’t got no fucking rights. Like he’s not allowed to feel what he fucking feels. 

But it’s not Ian’s fault. He’s just trying to make the best of a fucking horrible mess. He feels like he got Ian into this shit show, and Ian is trying to get them out of it. They can talk more about it when they leave here. Maybe he’ll feel differently by then. Probably not. He doesn’t want to feel differently.  
He snuggled as close as he could to Ian and sleep finally took him over.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey's nightmares get worse.

Ian finally got Mickey settled enough to go back to sleep after another fucking nightmare, they were getting worse. In this one, everyone knew what had happened to Mickey. They were pointing and laughing at him, blocking his path as he ran, trying to get to get home. When he finally made it to the house, a grotesque baby was blocking the door. 

The baby was bald and faceless, but somehow, Mickey knew it was a boy. He didn’t have legs either, but he was bouncing around on his butt, pointing and laughing at Mickey, saying, “See what you did, dada”. 

Mickey woke up flailing, heart pounding, screaming bloody murder, soaked in sweat, his entire body was shaking. Ian didn’t know what the fuck to do. He knew that Mickey needed to talk to someone, and he planned to bring it up once they got settled in Evanston. He figured Mickey would be more open to it then. Svetlana’s baby was due any day now, according to the time frame she gave the clinic. If the bitch even knew. He doubted it. At any rate, they should be out of here in a month.

They had applied for a few jobs online and were waiting to hear back. They even had an apartment lined up in a good neighborhood. The landlord was emailing the lease agreement tomorrow. Their savings had accumulated beyond their imagination, so the security deposit, first and last month’s rent wouldn’t be a problem at all. They would be far from broke when they moved. 

They planned to leave enough money to cover that bitch’s expenses for two months, to help her until she went back to work. They would leave the money with Kev to give to her. 

Ian had already stocked up on diapers and shit for the baby, things that Svetlana’s benefits didn’t cover. As he ticked off shit in his head, he was pleased with their progress. Pretty soon he could focus all his attention on Mickey. His sweet, traumatized Mickey.

Ian heard a loud crash and jumped up. The fuck? Is somebody breaking in? He woke Mickey up gently, well, as gently as he could, given the circumstances, “Mick, I think somebody’s trying to break in. Wake up, baby. I’m gonna go see. You stay here. Be right back. Stay here now”. 

Ian quickly pulled his sweats on and grabbed the bat they kept near the bed. 

Mickey shot up, “Fuck that. You stay here. I’ll go”. He hurriedly pulled his sweats on and snatched the bat from Ian, “I said stay here, Ian”.

He quietly opened the door and stepped out, Ian was right behind him. They stopped in their tracks when they saw Svetlana standing near the sofa doubled over in pain, clutching her belly, water gushing down her legs. 

“Holy shit, she’s pissing on fucking the floor. She walked past the fucking bathroom to piss in the middle of the floor. The fuck, man? Who’s gonna clean that shit up?” Mickey asked, stunned and confused. Who does that shit? 

“Mickey, her water broke. Now calm the fuck down. We gotta get her to the fucking hospital, the baby’s coming”.

“What? Right now? It’s coming right now? It’s still dark outside. Why the fuck is it coming now?” Mickey babbled, looking around frantically.

Svetlana spit out a string of Russian curses, grabbed her belly and groaned loudly as she doubled over.

Ian had already called 911. He sent Mickey to her room for her bag, needing to give him something to do.

He walked over to Svetlana and rubbed her lower back soothingly, telling her the ambulance would be here soon, and to practice her breathing exercises.

She panted and looked up at him gratefully, thankful that he was there with her. She vaguely wondered how he could be so nice to her. He hated her, she knew he did, and he knew that she hated him. Fucking stupid boy scout. Fucking Americans. 

Mickey rushed in with her bag, “Got it. You call the ambulance already”? 

“Yeah, baby. They’ll be here soon. Why don’t you wait on the porch, make sure they get the right house? Only got a few streetlights working, might be hard for them to see the address. Take her bag with you, so we don’t forget it”.

“Got it. I’m gonna wait on the porch. Make sure they get the right house. Gonna go out now, Ian. Oh yeah, gonna take the fucking bag with me”.

Svetlana rolled her eyes and grunted as another pain hit her. Dumb fuck.

Ian smiled lovingly at Mickey, “Ok baby. You’re doing good. Let us know when they get here”.

Just as Mickey got the door open, they heard the wail of the siren.

“Fuck. They’re here, Ian. I hear ‘em'.

“Ok baby. You go on out. We’re coming”.

Ian gently urged Svetlana to the door, taking care to stop when she needed to. They made it to the porch and the EMTs helped her onto the stretcher and loaded her into the ambulance.

Before they closed the door, Svetlana raised up and asked, “You come, Ian? You come too? Yes”?

He looked at Mickey, who was still holding her bag, “Yes, we’ll be there. We’ll take an Uber. Don’t worry, we’re right behind you”.

He quickly took the bag from Mickey and gave it to the EMT. Then he took out his phone and ordered an Uber.  
“We’re gonna go to the hospital, make sure everything goes alright. Ok baby? Just to make sure”.

Mickey chewed his bottom lip, “Ok. Good idea. I’ll get our shit. Lock the door and shit”.  
“Thanks, baby. I’ll wait here for you”.

Mickey dashed inside and Ian had a quick laugh. His sweet Mickey was so funny sometimes.


	7. Chapter 7

Svetlana gave birth to a dark haired, 8 1/2-pound baby boy. She named him Yevgeny Milkovich. While Ian thought the baby looked very much like a Milkovich, he wasn’t certain it looked like Mickey specifically. He figured he’d get a better look when the baby came home.

Mickey refused to look at the baby. He was haunted by the fucking nightmare with that hideous baby taunting him earlier that night. Now he was fucking scared of the real baby. He didn’t tell Ian because it sounded crazy. How could a fucking grown ass man fear a fucking defenseless baby? He was too embarrassed to tell Ian. 

They stayed up when they got home from the hospital. Mickey made coffee and they sat and talked about their plans for their new life in Evanston. For the first time in their lives, they didn’t have to worry about money. They had enough to get by until they found jobs without starving or becoming homeless. Their sacrifice had paid off. Their plan was working. 

Now that the baby was born, Mickey was ready to give notice at his job and get the fuck on. Like they had planned.  
Ian wanted to wait a couple weeks to make sure Svetlana and the baby were settled. Plus, he wanted to give a week’s notice at the supermarket, and they still needed to buy a bed. They didn’t want to take anything from this shithole. They wanted a brand new start. 

Mickey reluctantly agreed, because two more weeks would be within their original timeline. He settled down, saying the additional money they would earn would be worth it. However, he was worried that Ian would expect him to interact with the baby, and that wasn’t gonna happen. Might as well let him know now, “Ian, I’m not gonna have nothing to do with that kid, so don’t expect it. Plan to work as much overtime as I can so I don’t have to be here. Just telling you now”.

“Mick, I don’t want you to do nothing you’re not comfortable with. I would never pressure you to do anything. You know that, baby. I love you, you’re my main concern, always. But I don’t want you to work yourself to death, either. You come home, and we’ll stay in our room. She’ll probably keep the baby in her room most of the time, anyway. Says she’s gonna breast feed. When do you wanna tell her we’re leaving? And we gotta talk to Kev, give him the money for her for a couple months like we said. I think we should go through our clothes, see what we wanna take, maybe take the rest to the thrift shop. Still gotta tell my family. Already got three refills for my pills, and a referral to the university clinic. Can you think of anything else?”

“Not really. I think you covered everything. We can tell her when she gets home, get it over with. Then I won’t have to ever talk to her skank ass again. We can go see Kev any day you want. We got the money for him already. We can have a couple drinks, maybe shoot some pool. Like a fucking date night or some shit”.

Ian smiled brightly, “You asking me on a date, Mickey”?

“Yeah, baby love, I’m asking you to go out with me,” he knew Ian loved it when he called him baby love.

Ian leaned over and kissed him soundly, “I’d love to go out with you, Mickey Milkovich. I love you so much. We’re gonna be so happy in Evanston”.

“I love you, too baby love,” he said tenderly. 

The baby developed a slight discoloration on his little penis following the circumcision. The doctor assured Svetlana that it wasn’t serious, but they would monitor it closely, just to be sure. She called Ian in tears, begging him to come. She wasn’t sure she understood everything the doctor told her, but it sounded bad. 

Ian explained the problem to Mickey, who grimaced and said, “Shit. They fucked up his dick”? Can they fucking fix it”?

“Mick, they didn’t fuck up his dick, probably nothing to fix. I’m gonna go talk to the doctor so I can explain it to her. 

She’s having a fucking fit. Wanna come with me?” Ian asked.

“No. You can just tell me when you get back,” he said, lowering his eyes.

“It’s ok, baby. You don’t need to feel bad. I just wanted you to know what’s going on. You’re good, Mickey. It’s all good”.

Mickey smiled gratefully and went back to sorting their clothes for the thrift shop.

“I’ll get this done while you’re gone, and we can drop the shit off tomorrow. Get it outta the way”.

Ian smiled, “Good deal. I won’t be long”.

As it turned out, the discoloration was due to the baby’s sensitive skin. Svetlana had imagined the worse. The worse shit always happened to her, she couldn’t seem to escape it, no matter what. She didn’t feel attached to the baby, but she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.

A few days later, Ian brought them home from the hospital in an Uber and got them settled. He made dinner for them all and waited for Mickey to get home. They were telling Svetlana about the move today.

Later that evening, they were sitting at the table, having just finished eating, the baby was sleeping. 

Ian cleared his throat, “Svetlana, Mickey and I are leaving Chicago. We waited for the baby to come, wanted to be sure you both are ok. We will continue to pay the property taxes, so you’ll have a place to live. The utilities and shit will be on you, the house is paid for, so you don’t have to worry about rent. We’ll send money every month for the baby. We’ll send it to Kev, and he’ll make sure you get it. Any problems with the baby or the house, let him know, he’ll tell us. We’ll leave enough money for you to get by for a couple months, until you go back to work. Kev will give you that money at the beginning of next month, and again the following month. After that, the amount we send every month will be a lot less, because you should be back to work by then. If an emergency comes up, let Kev know and we’ll do our best to help, but there’s a limit to what we’ll do. We’re trying to help you, not support you”.

Svetlana pretended to be surprised by the news. She forced a few tears and tried her best to sound pitiful, “You leave? Not take me and baby? What I do with baby? No help”?

Ian said, “We’re leaving next week. We wanna get away from all the bullshit here, the bullshit you were happy to take part in. We wanna get away from you and your baby. You’ll need to arrange for child care, I guess. You have a fucking worker, talk to her. Maybe you can talk to my sister, Debs, about it. I’ll leave her number and let her know you’ll be calling her. I can ask her to come over before we leave, if you want. Either way, you’ll have to work it out for yourself. You put yourself in this shit, thinking you’re so fucking smart. So, now you’re up, time to prove it. One lesson you should take from all this, don’t assume your enemies are fucking idiots. You’re a fucking undocumented, unemployed, unskilled, single mom. We’re giving you more help than the average single mom gets. We’re giving you more than you fucking deserve after the way you treated Mick. You’ll be fine or you won’t. Up to you”.

“Don’t know what to do. How to take care, make sure baby ok. What to do”. She fucking hated them. They get to go away and have a good life, leaving her stuck with a damn baby, all alone. Terry promised her a family and they stole it from her.

Mickey had enough, he was not fooled by her little act. “Fuck you. Should’ve thought about that shit. What? Thought you were gonna get a fucking nanny or some shit?” he snarked, stalking away. 

“I’ll go online, find a video or something for you. You can play it whenever you have questions, or maybe Debs has something. Shit, you don’t have a fucking laptop. Fuck, I’ll call Debs now,” Ian said as he left her sitting alone, pretending to cry.

Shit. He hadn’t thought about her not knowing how to take care of a baby. She should’ve been taking parenting classes. Probably refused them ‘cause she was scared of anything having to do with the fucking government. Well, Fuck. He hoped Debbie could help because no way he was asking Mickey to stay here a minute longer than they had planned. 

Debbie came over the next evening and promised to help Svetlana. She told her about Franny’s day care provider, and they set a date for Svetlana to visit the site. Debbie would go with her. Ian was confident Debbie would keep her word, and Svetlana seemed more at ease, knowing she had someone to depend on. 

Ian told his family over dinner the Thursday before the move. Mickey stayed home, refusing to subject himself to ‘that fucking shit show’. Ian was on his own. It went pretty much as he expected. 

Fiona and Lip warned him of impending doom. 

Carl and Debs thought it was a great idea, although they would miss him, they promised to visit him often. 

Liam was excited because he had learned about the beautiful lakefront parks and beaches, and the year-round festivals in Evanston when his Social Studies class studied the history of Illinois.   
“When can I come visit, Ian? Can I bring Dexter with me, please?” he asked, bouncing in his seat with excitement. 

“Sure bud, you can come anytime you want, bring anyone you want. Let us get settled, see what’s up and we’ll pick a weekend. Sound good? One thing though, buddy, we don’t want anyone to know where we are. It’s a secret. Can you handle that”?

“You mean Terry, Mickey’s dad. I understand. I won’t run my mouth. Just Dexter, he’s my best friend. Thanks, Ian. I’m gonna call Dexter now. Oh, I’ll miss you, Ian, and Mickey, too”.   
He hopped down, kissed Ian, and ran upstairs to call his friend.

Ian turned to his other siblings, “I know I can trust y’all to keep our secret. Kevin is the only other person we told. We don’t know when Terry’ll get out, it’s been over a year already. We don’t wanna chance the shit. We’re leaving Sunday afternoon, shouldn’t take more than an hour to get there, probably less”.

Fiona forced most of her objections down when she reminded herself of her brother’s steely determination, but she was still concerned, “Why’d you pick Evanston of all places? Isn’t that a college town or something? That big time university is there, right? The fuck you wanna go there for? You think they’ll let you and Mickey in that fancy ass school?” she laughed at her own joke.

“We picked Evanston because it’s close, won’t take long to get here if there’s an emergency or some shit. It is a college town, we’ll blend in easy there. They got a solid gay community, being a college town and all. Lot of jobs available, good pay. We already have an apartment, we checked out the neighborhood and shit. As for the university, it’s Northwestern, by the way. If we do decide to enroll, we’ll find out the requirements and make it happen. Our fucking backgrounds will go a long way, I bet. Two gay dudes from shitty south side families, had to fight tooth and nail for every damn thing, trying to better ourselves. Don’t underestimate us, Fiona. Neither one of us”.

“Ian, I didn’t mean it like that. I was joking. Just don’t want you to set your sights too high. Be realistic and shit, no your limitations. You’re saddling yourself with Milkovich baggage, you know”.

Ian rolled his eyes, “How ‘bout Mickey is saddling himself with Gallagher fucking baggage, huh? Not gonna argue with you, Fiona. Didn’t come here for that”.

“Not gonna argue with any of you,” he added, giving Lip a pointed look. 

Carl wasn’t in the mood for the same old tired shit from his older siblings. He said, “I think it’s a good idea, Ian. It’s good you’re getting the fuck outta here before that homicidal homophobe gets out, ‘cause I don’t wanna have to kill his ass. But I will. Y’all seem to have all the fucking bases covered. Need any help? I can get off early Sunday”.

Ian smiled at his little brother, always amazed at his willingness to support him and Mickey, no matter what.   
“Thanks, Carl. We’re not taking any of that shit with us. We want a fucking fresh start. We caught a bedroom set on sale. We’ll buy other furniture as we go along, no hurry”. 

Lip finally spoke, “You didn’t mention jobs. How the fuck you gonna pay rent? Pay for your fucking pills? We sure can’t help you. You don’t know how long it’ll take to get a job, Ian. If Mickey can even get a fucking legit job. He’ll probably end up selling drugs to college kids, get his ass busted, and wind up in prison with Terry”. He laughed bitterly. What is Ian thinking? Going off with fucking Mickey, fuck’s sake. He’s out of his fucking mind. 

Ian faced him squarely, “This is not a fucking spur of the moment thing, Lip. We planned the shit, saved our money, considered everything that could go wrong. For your information, Mickey has two interviews lined up already. He might end up supporting my ass for a while. You think I’ll start selling drugs”?

“How the fuck could he have interviews already”?

Ian pushed his chair back, he was sick of this bullshit. He could always depend on Fiona and Lip to shit on his plans. He said, “It’s called online applications, you fucking fill them out and click on SEND. Would think a scholar such as yourself, would know that shit”. 

Carl and Debbie laughed loudly, Lip studied his shoes, and Fiona just sat there looking at her siblings. The siblings she raised with sheer grit and determination. She saw that same shit in Ian. He set his fucking mind on something and went for it.

When Ian stood up to leave, Fiona rushed him, crushing him with a fierce hug. She whispered in a trembling voice, “I’ve always loved you like you were my very own. I will always love you like that, Ian. I know I make you mad sometimes, but always know I only want the best for you. I will be here for you until the day I die. I watched you grow from a freckled little, bitty boy with a sweet smile that was too big for your fucking face, into a smart, determined, handsome, proud, gay man. I look at you sometimes and think ‘I had a hand in that. I nurtured that’. I’m proud of you, brother and I wish you and Mickey well. Despite my shitty attitude, I know how much you two love each other. I wish you every happiness. But I’m always gonna worry about you. That’s my fucking job, Ian. I took it on back when you were a little boy. I’m gonna miss you and I love you with all my heart”.

She and Ian were both crying quietly by the time she finished talking. Debbie and Carl’s eyes were red rimmed, and Lip was scowling, pretending his allergies were acting up.

Ian looked at Fiona tenderly, “I love you too, Fiona, so fucking much. I will always love you, always want your approval. I am grateful for your tender care, for all the sacrifices you made for us. All you ever asked is that we try our best at whatever we chose to do. We were poor as shit, but I had the best fucking childhood in the world. You kept us together, taught us to love each other, to stay close to each other, look out for each other. You made us a family, Fiona. You took a fucking mess and made a family out of it when you were just a fucking kid yourself. You say I’m determined? That’s all you, Fiona. You taught me that shit, and I thank you for it”.

Lip cleared his throat, “Alright, enough already with the fucking testimonials and shit. Fucker’s moving less than an hour way, fuck’s sake. Ian, I wish you and Mickey well, too. I love you, you’re my little brother and I’m supposed to be concerned about you. I might go about it in a shitty way, but my fucking concern is genuine. Hope you know that. I love you, brother”.

Ian walked over and hugged him tightly, “I know, Lip. I do know. I love you and I’ll always be looking up to you. You’re my big brother”.

Mickey looked up from the TV when Ian walked into their room, he noticed his red rimmed eyes, but decided not to comment directly, he simply asked, “How’d it go? They talk you out of it”?

Ian chuckled, “Nah, they were supportive actually. Took Fiona and Lip a minute, but they got there. Liam and his buddy will be visiting soon. Knows all about the lakefront, the festivals and shit. What you been doing, good looking? Did you eat”?

“Yeah. Had a deep-dish pizza and a salad delivered, left enough for you, already gave her some. You said we should cook enough for her while gets her fucking strength back and shit”.

Ian leaned over, kissed him and ruffled his hair, “You did good, baby. You’re so good, you’re perfect”.

Mickey smiled bashfully and returned to the TV. He loved pleasing Ian, even if he didn’t agree with him all the time.

Ian went to check on Svetlana and the baby. He never interacted with the baby, but he wanted to be sure he was ok. He looked at his tiny, sweet face, searching for Mickey. He wondered if he just didn’t want to see Mickey in the tiny face. Maybe he needed an unbiased opinion.

He hoped Mickey wasn’t the father, but he was prepared in case he was. In his mind, the kid was their responsibility either way, because he had no one else. He was born into a shitty environment under shitty circumstances.

Mickey had never even looked at the baby. Ian noticed his strange reaction whenever the baby cried. He almost seemed terrified by the sound. If Svetlana brought the baby into the living room, Mickey would immediately get up and leave, and he spoke to her only when he had to, but that wasn’t new. 

Mickey’s nightmares had become more frequent, and it was getting increasingly more difficult for Ian to calm him. He had sobbed against Ian’s chest for nearly two hours last night, but he refused to discuss the dream in detail, murmuring incoherently about ‘the fucking baby’. Ian assumed it was the same baby he had dreamed about the night Yevgeny was born.

Ian was determined to get professional help for Mickey as soon as they got settled in Evanston. He already knew that Mickey would be resistant, but he figured that a calmer environment would help persuade him. Ian could close his own eyes and see Terry and Svetlana raping Mickey at gunpoint. That shit was horrifying enough, he couldn’t bear to imagine what Mickey saw when he closed his own eyes. 

Svetlana and the baby were constant reminders of that terrible day. But Ian had seen no other option, they had to make sure the baby was taken care of before they left. He figured that Mickey had enough fucking regrets, and he didn’t want neglecting the baby to be another one. To make sure the baby was ok, Svetlana had to be ok, too. There was no way around it. If it turns out that kid is Mickey’s, then he would’ve taken care of him as best he could. If the kid is his brother, Mickey would still want him to be ok. 

Ian had no fucking idea if he was doing the right thing. How the fuck could he know? People studied shit like this for years, learning how to deal with male rape victims. Although he had done some research online, he was basically going with his gut. He found a few organizations that he planned to contact when they got settled. He just hated to see his Mickey suffer and he couldn’t help him. 

They had two more days in this shithole, and they were out. Forever.

The next morning, Mickey lay there quietly waiting for the sun to rise. One more fucking day and they were out. For fucking good. He wanted to get up, but he didn’t want to disturb Ian. He wasn’t getting the rest he needed, he was up with Mickey for hours every fucking night. Because of the fucking nightmares. He tried sleeping on the couch a couple nights, but Ian made him come back to bed. Secretly, Mickey was glad, the couch was too close to the room the baby slept in. He didn’t want to be close to him. He couldn’t stand it. How the fuck could he be scared of a fucking defenseless baby? Had he really lost his damn mind? 

Mickey knew that Ian had been researching shit to help him online. One night, he was watching a movie, waiting for Ian to close the laptop and join him. Ian was engrossed in something, taking notes and shit. At first, he thought it was a job application. Why would he be taking notes for that? Mickey had to call his name twice before he finally answered. 

“Man, what’re you doing? What’s got you so occupied? Thought we were gonna watch the fucking movie together? It’s almost over,” Mickey asked.

“Sorry Mick. Just got caught up”. Ian closed the laptop, leaving the notepad inside. 

Mickey always left for work before Ian, so the next morning he read the notes while Ian was still sleeping. It was a list of organizations in Evanston that helped male rape victims. His heart swelled with love, his man was trying everything he could to make the hurt go away, to make things better for him. 

But Mickey wasn’t sure he could get better. He was so fucked up. He didn’t even know what he was feeling himself most of the time. 

How was he supposed to fucking talk about it? He was just going through the fucking motions like a robot or some shit. He decided that he wouldn’t fight Ian about getting help, he would try to cooperate when the time came. Ian deserved that much at least. 

Mickey just wanted to leave this fucking house. He wanted to leave that whore and her baby. Maybe he could think clearly once he was away from here. 

Ian was finally stirring awake, stretching his long ass and yawning. Mickey loved watching him wake up, he was fucking adorable. He did the same thing every fucking morning. Next, he was gonna open his eyes and blink two or three times in rapid succession, he would yawn again, then he would look for Mickey. When their eyes met, they would both smile. As if on cue, Ian turned his head toward Mickey and smiled. Mickey smiled back. 

“How long you been up, Mickey? You alright? Why didn’t you wake me up”?

“Slow down tough guy. I’m fine. Was just laying here thinking how much I love you and how lucky I am to have you in my corner, and we’re getting the fuck outta here tomorrow,” Mickey said in a rush of excitement.

“Well shit, you’ve been busy as hell this morning. You should be worn out from all that damn thinking. Gonna need a fucking nap soon,” Ian teased, happy that Mickey was in a good mood.

“Fuck you, man. What we got up for today? Got everything packed, gave all that shit we don’t want away. Far as I can tell, just gotta pick up the bed and we’re fucking set,” Mickey said, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Yep, we’re set, baby. Thought we might pick up some towels, sheets, cheap set of pots, some dishes. Shit like that. We’re not taking shit with us from here. Once we leave, we’re done with this miserable shithole. That alright with you, Mikhailo, baby”?

Mickey rolled his eyes and snorted, “You got jokes this morning, huh? We can get all that shit at Walmart. What time you wanna leave? Let’s get some breakfast while we’re out”.

“Sounds good. I can stare at your pretty face while we eat,” Ian said, with an exaggerated wink.

“Fuck you, man,” Mickey laughed, leaning over and kissing him.

Mickey got up and pulled his jeans on. “Gonna start the coffee. Get your ass up. We’ll get a nap in later. I been messing with your sleep, and don’t fucking try to deny it,” he said, flipping Ian off as he sauntered out of the room. 

Mickey was pouring water into the coffeemaker when Svetlana stumbled in to get a bottle for the baby. Her step faltered when she saw him. 

Should she go back until he was done in the kitchen? Fuck him. The baby was hungry, and he wasn’t latching properly, and she didn’t know what to do about it. Another fucking problem she had to deal with while they went away to live happy and carefree. Maybe she’d ask that red head bitch, Ian’s prissy sister what to do about it. She’s so fucking willing to help, thinks she knows every damn thing with her bubbly ass. 

She avoided Mickey’s eyes. Sometimes, she felt like his cold, piercing, blue eyed glare was looking right through her, exposing her. She wondered if he could see how much she hated his ass? Could he tell how much she hated Ian, running his crazy ass around making plans for every fucking body? He might be in charge now, but she was going to make damn sure that shit changed. She was already making plans for her revenge. 

For now, she took a deep breath, schooled her features, and walked over to the fridge. Without looking at her, Mickey said, “Coffee’s almost ready,” and walked out. 

She was shocked that he even acknowledged her, it threw her off. She briefly wondered about her refusal to have an abortion all the months ago. It wouldn’t have been her first one, not even her second or third.   
She doesn't know why she didn’t use a condom. Terry beat her face with his fist the first time she told him to use one, but she should've used one with Mickey. She always carried some in her purse. Hell, most of her tricks brought their own, they wouldn’t fuck her without one.

She thought about Terry’s ignorant, bullying ass, how he got her in this mess and fucked off to prison. She had listened to his stupid lies, believing him when he said they would all live here together, be a fucking family. He said she would have her American dream. He promised her. She should’ve known he couldn’t think past his little wee wee. She knew all about dicks, she was a fucking specialist on the fucking subject. Tiny dick Terry, tiny brain Terry. 

Well, she had fucked up, nothing to do about it now. Try to make the best of the shit she landed her ass in. She had been scared when they told her they were leaving so soon. But she calmed down when she learned how good they were gonna provide for her. Maybe they felt guilty? No, they just wanted to make sure baby was ok. She came with the baby, so they had to take care of her, too. She was safe for a while, but she didn’t like that she would have to go to that big, loud, dumbass Kev for money. Those two fuckers did everything they could to humiliate her. Fucking assholes.   
She wasn’t stupid, she knew that they were making her life easier, but she believed she deserved more. She felt like they all took advantage of her. Men had always taken advantage of her. Everything she ever wanted had been within reach, and they fucking snatched it all away. Crazy ass Ian snatched it away. If he had stayed away, she would be married now. Have a family. Husband, baby, house. Fuck him. She would never forgive him for threatening her with ICE, either. She knew he was serious, she had seen it in his fucking eyes. She swiped angrily at her tears and made a bottle for her boy. The boy she didn’t want. 

They were pushing their cart down the linen aisle in Walmart when Ian headed in a direction that Mickey refused to go, “I’ll be in the fucking magazine section, man,” he said as he hurried away.

Ian called out, “Mickey, wait,” but he didn’t look back. 

Ian quickly picked up a half dozen onesies and a few blankets, then followed Mickey to the magazine section.

“Here I am. I’m ready, baby”.

Mickey looked up in surprise, “Thought you’d be a while. You didn’t have to rush. I’m good here”.

“Nah. Just wanted to get a few things. What magazines you getting this time?” he asked.  
They squabbled over magazines for a bit before making their way to the checkout.

Ian called an Uber to take them to their favorite diner. They had planned to take the EL, but with all their bags and it being a Saturday morning, they didn’t want the hassle with other shoppers. 

When they were settled in their booth Ian spoke seriously, “I didn’t mean to upset you, Mick. Just wanted to get him some extra shit before we leave. Wanna do our best by him. Should’ve asked you first. Just wasn’t thinking, baby”.

Mickey placed his hand over one of Ian’s hands, “Baby love, you don’t got shit to apologize for. Everything you do is for me. I fucking know that, Ian. You do the shit I can’t do, fucking won’t do. I want you to know I appreciate it, all of it. Just keep loving me, Ian. I really need you now. I’m fucking lost, man. Trying to find my fucking way. Long as I got you, I know I’ll be ok. I look at you, I see love, acceptance, understanding and shit. I know I got the best thing in the world. You make it right for me, baby. Just promise you’ll hang with me till I can do better”.

“Mickey. Mickey. I will always hang with you. Nothing can pry me loose, baby. You’re my man. I’ll stand with you against the fucking world. The things you see when you look at me, I see those same things when I look at you. We’re fucking ride or die, man. You’re it for me, always have been. When you’re weak, I’ll steady you, prop you up, carry your sweet ass if I gotta. I’ll bear your weight, Mickey. You can count on it. We’re coming up outta this vile ass shit we’re mired in. On my fucking word, we’re coming up outta it and we’ll be stronger than ever. I got you, Mick”. He leaned over and wiped a lone tear from Mickey’s cheek. 

The plan was to rent a U-Haul Sunday morning, put their things in it, pick up their bedroom furniture and get the fuck on down the road.   
On their last night in Chicago, they were sitting in a cozy bar in Boystown drinking Jack and coke, having decided to splurge, spend some of their hard-earned money. 

Mickey studied Ian Intently before deciding to broach the subject, “So, I saw your notes about those organizations, for men like me. What you thinking? We gonna contact ‘em when we get settled”?

Ian looked up in mild shock, “When did you see that? Wasn’t going behind your back or nothing, Mick. Just wanted to get an idea of what’s out there before I came to you”.

“Calm down, baby. I know you’re just looking out for me, like you always do. Make shit easy for me. So, we gonna contact them? I went on a few of the sites on your list. Really think it’ll help”?

Ian’s face was filled with pride, “You never cease to amaze me, Mickey. I’m so proud of you right now. I could just kiss those sexy, pouty lips. Matter of fact, I am gonna kiss those fucking sexy lips. Lean your ass over here and pucker the fuck up. Come on over here”. 

Mickey laughed as he puckered up and met him halfway for that kiss.

They ended the night in their spot, under the bleachers, doing what they do.

Sunday morning, Svetlana walked into the kitchen while they were eating breakfast. 

“Today is move, yes?” she asked, focusing on Ian, and studiously avoiding Mickey.

“Yeah, heading out soon,” Ian said.

Mickey set his cup down and waited. This bitch.

“Leave money? You say?” she asked, hopefully.

“Kev will have it for you next month. Like we said”.

“Give to me. I keep myself. No need Kev, I grown,” she snapped.

“She’s right, man. She’s grown, she can take care of her damn self. She’s so fucking capable, she shouldn’t need our fucking money,” Mickey said.

She rolled her eyes at Mickey, “Need money, no need Kev to keep for me. I keep”.

“Kev will give it to you next month, just like I said. We don’t trust your ass, you know this already. If you got a problem with our rules, we can forget the whole fucking thing,” Ian said harshly.

“Why send money to Kev? Can send to me. This address,” she tried again. Fuck them.

“Like I said, we can call the whole thing off. You don’t get a say in this shit. We’re doing your ass a fucking favor. Fuck’s wrong with you?” Ian snapped.

“No call off. What about baby? Mickey is father. He must take care,” she said, folding her arms.

Ian laughed, “Bitch, go ask somebody how many single mothers get help from their baby daddies. Or here’s what you do, go tell your worker, or better yet, take Mick to court. We don’t even know if he’s the father. Fuck around and get your ungrateful, dumb, greedy ass deported. Yeah, do that, take him to court”.

Mickey shook his head and stood up, “Bitch, we don’t explain shit to you, we don’t answer your fucking questions. Now, you want our fucking help or not”? 

“Yes, to help,” she said, stalking out of the kitchen. She fucking hated them.

They looked at each other and laughed. They never expected her gratitude, so they weren’t disappointed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian arrive in Evanston.

Mickey was grinning widely as he looked around their new apartment with pride, “What do you think tough guy? We home or what”?

Ian walked up to him and kissed the tip of his nose, “Yeah, baby. We’re home. Our home. Our happy home. Just us, Mick. We’re safe, baby. We’re fucking safe”.

Ian noticed a shadow flit across Mickey’s face at the mention of them being ‘safe’. Would Mickey ever feel safe again? Had he ever felt safe in his fucking life? He hated Terry and Svetlana with every fiber of his being right now. He would make them pay.   
He walked over to Mickey and wrapped him in his arms and held on as tight as he could, “I love you, baby. Gonna take real good care of you. Not gonna let nobody hurt you again. I’ll fucking kill a motherfucker, Mick. I got you. Whatever you need, I got you”.

Mickey was holding on just as tight, “I know. You always take care of me, Ian. I’m gonna get better”.

“Sure, you are, baby. Just takes time. We’re away from that fucking shithole, that bitch and the baby, we can think straight. Make a plan to help you deal with the trauma and shit. Sometimes I think I made you stay there too long. Fucked you up more. I was just trying to do the right fucking thing. Mickey, if I made you worse, I’ll never forgive my damn self. I’m so sorry you’re going through this shit. Sorry I didn’t do nothing to help you. I’d do anything to make it all go away”.

“Ian, stop. None of this shit is your fault. He pistol whipped you and made you watch, baby. Nothing you could’ve done. He would’ve killed us both. You know that. He’s fucking crazy, a homicidal maniac. You’re traumatized, same as me. We survived him, we’re still together, we can make it through, baby. Far as that other shit, you did what you thought was right. I’m in no fucking shape to make those calls. I would’ve been like ‘fuck it, I’m out’. You were thinking long-term, Ian. The kid ain’t got nobody but us basically. His piece of shit mama is a stupid, conniving piece of shit. We don’t know who the father is yet. Little dude is fucked already, and he just got here the other day. I don’t   
blame you for anything. None of it is your fault. You gotta know that. Long as I got you, the rest is fucking doable, baby. You always put me first, look out for me and shit. Don’t ever fucking doubt yourself. I love you, baby, and I trust you”.

They sat on the floor in their bare living room, in their new apartment, and held each other for a long time. Glad to be free. They were free.   
For the first time in his fucking life, Mickey was free. He tried to convince himself that he was free, that he was safe, that he could be happy.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Svetlana visits Terry at Beckman Prison. It doesn't go exactly as planned.

The boy was five months old, healthy, and Svetlana assumed he was happy. Whatever the fuck that means. Her resentment grew every time she had to pick up her money from Kev. He always insisted that she bring the baby with her. He pretended to play with Yevgeny, but she knew he was checking him out, to report back to Ian. She doubted Mickey gave a shit about the boy’s well-being. Whenever she thought about those crazy pills he forced down her throat, and that damn trap he set for her, she got mad all over again.

She didn’t like motherhood, nothing about it suited her. She would never mistreat the boy, she just didn’t feel attached to him. She can’t remember the last time she felt attached to anyone or anything. 

The few times she allowed that happy ass Debbie to drag her to the park, she watched the other mothers with disdain. They fawned over their snot nosed brats, shared stupid fucking stories, and ran their fat asses around after the brats, laughing like fucking maniacs. No, motherhood was not for her. She sometimes caught Debbie staring at her, but she didn’t give a fuck, she was doing what was required. Debbie liked the boy, she said Franny liked having him around, so he stayed at their house. She was glad Debbie was so fucking stupid. 

She picked him up from the Gallagher house whenever she had to get her check from Kev and took him back as soon as she had her money. She dropped by the house with groceries and silly baby toys, playing the doting mother for as long as she could stand it, then she was gone until the next time. Of course, she paid Debbie. She didn’t want it getting back to that fucker Kev that she was neglecting the boy. But she wanted the fuck out of motherhood. She figured that selling the boy would be a bad idea. Ian would call ICE on her ass. She should’ve listened to Mickey and got a fucking abortion. She had made so many damn mistakes, but none of it was her fault.

When Terry got arrested, she had been overwhelmed, she didn’t know what the fuck to do. She had never been a Plan B type person, never really had that luxury. When Terry told her that he would make Mickey marry her she thought she would finally have security and stability. It didn’t matter that Mickey hated her. Hell, she had been doing things she hated with people she hated, all her fucking life. He was no better than her. So what if Terry made him fuck her at gunpoint. It wasn’t her fault that Terry was a fucking degenerate. He was Mickey’s father, not hers. She was just doing the job she was paid to do. Mickey and Ian should've fought back like real men. It was two against one. They just sat there and took it. Fucking pussies. Got what they fucking deserved. She ended up paying for the shit. Her fucking dream was lost. 

Everything was coming together nicely the morning Ian walked in and turned everything upside down. The morning he took Mickey away from her. She was convinced that she could’ve made Mickey love her. It happened all the time with brides from Russia. No love at first, then love and happiness comes. She had heard the stories. She could’ve had that. A family. Ian ruined that. 

She spent a lot of time thinking about that morning, and she had finally figured out why Terry got arrested. That’s why she was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, in a stale smelling booth littered with vulgar graffiti at Beckman, waiting for them to bring Terry Milkovich out. She stared impassively at the filthy glass, not knowing what to expect, bracing herself for the worse. 

She released an audible gasp when she saw him, he looked bigger, more violent, he emanated evil. Maybe she should get up and run for her fucking life. The closer he got, the scarier he looked. 

He strutted over to the phone bank, Milkovich scowl firmly in place as he snatched up his phone and snarled, “Fuck you want, bitch”?

She cleared her throat nervously, “Baby older. I come see you”. She tried smiling at him.

His scowl stayed in place, “Heard you didn’t get married. The fuck happen? He chicken out after I got locked up”?

“He say no marry. I think you set up, locked up”.

“I know I was set up, bitch. Don’t need you telling me what I already know. You think I’m stupid? Don’t know when I been fucking set up? You fucking dumb cunt”.

“Know who did it?” She asked timidly. This wasn’t going right. She had the power, why was he acting like he had the power? He was locked up behind fucking bars. 

He snarled, “Got a pretty good idea. The fuck is it to you, bitch”?

“Think I know who”.

“You don’t know shit, bitch. Where the fuck is Mickey? He still with that fucking red queer”?

She nodded, fidgeting with her hands, “They go. Together”.

“They go where, bitch? Where they at? The Gallagher place”?

“No. Another place. Not Chicago”.

He sat up straighter, gripping the phone, “Where bitch? Tell me where they went”? 

The guard noticed Terry’s agitation and walked over, Terry looked at him, “All good, man. Just a little family matter. You know bitches, they always fucking shit up”.

“Keep it down inmate, or I’ll haul your ass back to your fucking cell. Last warning,” the guard gave him a menacing look and slowly walked away.

Terry put the phone back to his ear and demanded in a low, deadly voice, “Where the fuck did they go”?

Svetlana jolted back in her chair, knowing he couldn’t get to her. She couldn’t help it, he was scary as hell. She swallowed nervously, “No tell me. Send money for baby. Kev give to me. Kev, he know where”. The fuck? Why is she defensive? Why is she scared? Fuck him. He should be grateful she came, nobody else visits his evil ass. Hell, she shouldn’t even be here. Why the fuck had she thought this was a good idea?

Terry wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze the fucking life out of her ass. He hated the sight of her. “What fucking money? The fuck you talking about, bitch?” He was trying to make sense of what she was saying.

She regrouped and quickly explained everything to him. She came here to manipulate him. But something had gone wrong. Very wrong, very quickly. She took another deep breath and said, “Is all I know. Big secret”.

He snarled, “Secret my ass, bitch. You gonna find out where they at, and fucking tell me. I got six more months up in this bitch. When I get out, you better fucking know. I’ll find you and stomp the hell outta your whore ass. Try to hide from me and I’ll kill your ass. ‘Nother thing, put some money in my fucking commissary and it better be enough, and you better keep money in it”. 

He slammed the receiver down and signaled for the guard. He stalked away without a backward glance.

She sat there shaking, trying to compose herself for the long ass bus ride home. She realized that she had fucked up by coming here. She was back under his thumb and she didn’t even know how it happened. She came here planning to plant a seed, sit back and watch it happen, or hear about what happened. Instead, she had sat there and let him intimidate her, give her orders. Now she had to share her fucking money with his ass. 

How in fuck was she gonna find out where they went? She thought Terry had fucking connections. She thought he could find them and take care of them on his own. She didn’t want to be involved. A fucking Milkovich had fucked her over again. She got up and slowly walked to the exit, deep in thought.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry's cell in Beckman Prison.

Terry hurled himself onto his bunk, he was fuming. That fucking dumbass whore. Fuck she mean, she don’t know where those fucking faggots went? She better fucking find out.

He thought back to the morning he walked in and saw his faggot son getting fucked in the ass. They were going at it so hard they didn’t even hear him come in. Sick fucks. His son was getting fucked in the ass. His fucking son. Moaning and groaning like a fucking bitch in heat, begging that red head to fuck him harder. He couldn’t be the one doing the damn fucking, like a real man. Nah, he was letting that red head faggot fuck him, and red was really fucking him, too. Hard and fast, had his fucking head thrown back, eyes closed and shit, pounding that ass. A fucking abomination. 

He remembered how his own dick got rock hard watching that unnatural shit. That made him madder. His faggot son brought that perverted bullshit into his house. He wasn’t going to stand for it. Hell no. 

He ignored the inner voice wondering why he was aroused by the scene in front of him. Never being one for self-reflection, he adjusted his dick when he really wanted to take it out and jerk it. A loud moan escaped him, he looked around in alarm checking to make sure those faggots didn’t hear him. Shit, he was leaking through his damn pants. The fuck? Perverted motherfuckers. He roared, making his outraged presence known. 

He was gonna beat the shit outta both of their faggot asses, and then he was gonna teach Mickey a fucking lesson, and that damn red head was gonna watch. 

He remembers beating the shit out of both of them with his gun. He took pleasure in the pain he was inflicting. The faggots. Every time he thought about his own dick getting hard, he knocked the shit out of one of them. Then he sat there grinning, holding the gun while that filthy whore fucked Mickey. 

He remembers sitting there wondering if he, himself, was raped by a man, would he then be gay? Fuck no, he thought. The fucking voice then wondered, why he thought having that whore fuck Mickey would make him straight? 

So fucking what if he fucked fags while he was locked up. That was totally different, it’s just what real men did. Didn’t mean shit.   
He cursed loudly at his traitorous thoughts, jumped up, slammed that red head in the face with the butt of the gun again, and screamed at Mickey, “I’ll kill his faggot ass right now. Fuck her, you faggot. I said fuck her”.

That’s when Mickey flipped the bitch over on the couch and fucked her. Like a real man, like his son. Yeah, the faggot knows what up. He knows what’s expected of his faggot ass. Terry palmed his own dick and screamed, “That’s right, fuck her hard, hurt her damn ass, tear that fucking pussy up with your faggot ass. Act like a fucking real man”.

Svetlana saw him rubbing his dick, saw the wet spot on his pants, she smiled at him and licked her lips. He’s a fucking freak. Getting off on this shit. They’re all fucking freaks. 

Terry didn’t consider what he did as rape or gay bashing. He didn’t believe in that shit, he was just making those two faggots behave normally. Follow the fucking rules. Behave like fucking men. Hell, he did society a fucking service that day. And, he wasn’t fucking done yet. He would find them and finish what he started. 

He lay in his cell rubbing his dick through his pants. He refused to think about the many times he lay on this very cot and jerked it to his memories of that day, especially the ones with those two faggots fucking. He always cums real hard from those memories. He hated those faggots and he was gonna kill them. Perverted motherfuckers.  
He lay there stroking his dick and trying to figure out where they could be. That bitch said Kev knows. She said something about money every fucking month. Dumbass, no-talking bitch. Can’t understand shit she says. Bitch been here long enough to learn fucking English. The fucking language of the land. This is fucking America.

Why the fuck did she come here today? He knew that it wasn’t just to see him. He wasn’t that big of a fool. The fuck she want? Bitch better not be trying to put that fucking kid on him, that’s for damn sure. 

His fucking dick was throbbing, he needed some relief. Fuck. He couldn’t wait till tonight. He turned onto his side facing the wall and took his dick out. He moaned as he spread precum over his length. Shit. Those fucking freaks. He pictured that motherfucker pounding Mickey’s ass hard. He rolled his hips as he remembered their grunts and moans, he remembered how that big ass dick looked moving in and out of Mickey’s asshole. Shit. His hand mover faster, he grunted as he came hard all over his fist, the cot, and the wall. 

He always had a moment of self-loathing when he allowed this shit to happen, and he blamed it on those fucking freaks. Corrupting decent people, corrupting real men, making them do shameful shit. He hated them. He would make them pay. The motherfuckers.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey tries to make sense of his feelings.
> 
> Ian grows increasingly worried about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not an expert on opioid addiction. Please excuse any inaccuracies.

Ian had never stopped urging Mickey to consider getting professional help, a therapist, a support group, any fucking thing. He knew that Mickey was trying to bury those awful memories. Sometimes, he would give in, sit with Ian, and they would read the male rape and trauma information Ian was always downloading. But Mickey kept putting off contacting any of the organizations.

Mickey did seem to be doing better shortly after the move. He worked in the mailroom of a large corporation. He was responsible for sorting incoming and outgoing mail, and inter-office documents. He was glad that he didn’t have to deliver the shit, content to stay in the mailroom, sort the shit and he was done. No interaction with assholes. He found that he liked putting things in order, it was calming to him, somehow.

He did so well, he was promoted to senior mail clerk after only two months. The promotion came with full benefits. In his new position, Mickey didn’t sort mail anymore, he basically ran the mailroom. He liked it because he still had to maintain order, make sure everything was running right. There was only one downside, he had to interact with people more. He soon worked out that the smoother his operation ran, the fewer complaints he got, equaling fewer people he had to talk to. That was a winning formula and he was going with it. 

Ian was so proud of him, which made Mickey happy. He wanted to be everything that Ian deserved. He knew Ian wanted him to get professional help and he worried a lot because Mickey kept putting it off. There was no good reason to put it off any longer because he had health insurance now. He couldn’t tell Ian why he still refused, because he didn’t really know himself. How the fuck could he expect a stranger to help him when he couldn’t even explain what he was feeling? So, talking about the shit made no practical sense to him. Ian didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, he needed to realize that he didn’t always know what was best, what was best for Mickey. 

But that didn’t stop Mickey from spending every spare moment trying to make sense of what he was feeling. Why the fuck did he feel guilty? He understood why he was ashamed of himself. What fucking guy wouldn’t be ashamed of being raped by a whore while his fucking father held a gun on him and made his lover watch the shit? So, he put shame in the normal column. As if anything about that shit was normal, but he was trying to sort shit in his own head. Terry pistol whipped him and Ian, both. Then held them at gunpoint while that filthy whore raped him. Then they tried to force him to marry the bitch. That’s what happened, those were the facts. 

He just couldn’t bring himself to talk about how fucking scared he was. Hell, he could barely even stand to think about it. How could the once bad ass Mickey Milkovich tell someone that he was scared all the fucking time, that he had been scared all his fucking life? As far back as he can remember, there was never a time when he wasn’t scared that Terry would kill him one day. 

He had been scared of being gay. Scared Terry would find out he was gay. Scared of his feelings for Ian. Scared he would lose Ian. Scared of what Svetlana might tell Terry. Scared Terry would kill Ian. Scared Terry would kill them both. Just fucking scared. He had managed to deal with most of it. Maybe not deal with, he just fucking learned how to live with it. That was his fucking life, so he made the most of it. 

Being with Ian had made everything make sense, seem worthwhile. Until that fucking day. That horrific, fucking day when everything blew up in his damn face. 

The shit that happened that day left him with more shit to be scared of. He was scared people would find out that he had been raped. He was scared of losing his fucking mind. He was scared to go to sleep because of the fucking nightmares, especially the one with that damn baby taunting him. He was scared of the fucking flashbacks that plagued him when he was awake. How was he supposed to make someone understand that shit?

But he kept his biggest fear pushed to the back of his mind, only calling it forth in the wee hours of the morning when Ian was asleep. He was scared to death that Ian pitied him now, that he had been diminished in Ian’s sight. Did Ian see him as a fucking defenseless victim? How the fuck could he not? He had watched the whole fucking thing. He saw that nasty bitch mount him and ride him, while she grinned at Terry. He still saw the horror in Ian’s eyes, the defeat because he couldn’t help Mickey. Ian saw him flip the bitch over and fuck her. Ian knows his dick was hard, knows he ejaculated in her pussy. How could Ian possibly feel the same way about him? Not be repulsed by him? Respect him? How can Ian count on Mickey to protect him when he couldn’t protect his own punk ass? 

How the fuck did he let himself become a fucking useless victim, unable to control his own fucking dick? 

His other fear was that baby. Even if it is his, he didn’t want it, will never fucking want it. The baby didn’t have a choice in any of this shit. He knows the baby is fucking innocent. The kid can’t help the fucking circumstances he was born into, he was definitely dropped onto a pile of vile shit. Knowing this makes him feel guilty for not wanting the kid. He’s ashamed because he can’t rise to the fucking occasion. A real man would be able to set the bullshit aside and take responsibility. 

Ian would be able to do it, he always faced up to his fucking responsibilities. Ian is honorable and shit. So, Mickey supposes he’s a dishonorable piece of shit. 

He thinks of the fucking injustice of it all. A chick gets to choose if she wants to give birth ‘cause of a rape. She can get an abortion, or not. Exercise her autonomy and shit. He guesses that he doesn’t rate, ‘cause nobody fucking asked him if he wanted to be a fucking father to the child of rape. 

Ian was like ‘She’s having the baby, Mick. We gotta do right by it’. Fuck that shit. My fucking right to make a decision about my own damn life was totally ripped away without a fucking second thought. I’m expected to embrace the kid with loving arms at some point down the fucking line. Ian is all about preparing for that shit, preparing for that reunion. Doesn’t want me to have no regrets and shit. 

Well, I already have fucking regrets. Staying away from that kid for the rest of my fucking life, don’t even come close to the fucking regrets I already have. How can I explain some shit like that? 

The morning Mickey slipped in spilled coffee, he was preoccupied with those thoughts. He fell hard, landing on his tailbone, they were afraid to move him until EMS arrived. The pain was excruciating, it radiated from his lower back to his ass, to both legs.

He called Ian from the emergency room to pick him up. They had bought a used Chevy pickup, in mint condition, a few months after they moved to Evanston. Ian usually dropped him off and went to his job at Northwestern University. 

Ian worked in the financial aid office, and he absolutely loved it. He was learning a lot about the types of financial aid a wealthy university provided for its students. He was shocked speechless the first time a student requested an advance to pay her off-campus rent. He soon learned that was the norm around here.

The lines for assistance were never long, two or three students at most. The university hired enough staff to service students quickly and efficiently, in every department.   
Ian remembered going with Lip to check on his financial aid at the University of Illinois, before Lip dropped out and took up alcoholism at the Alibi. The line had extended beyond the financial aid office and into the hall. There had to be more than fifty people ahead of them. They were all waiting patiently, sitting on the floor, on window sills and shit, resigned to the tedious process.   
Ian guessed that was one major difference between state and private universities. He had plans for him and Mickey to attend this university. That was one of the reasons he chose this city. He was all about finding out how to make it happen.

Ian panicked when he got Mickey’s call, even though he insisted he was fine, he just needed to be picked up. Ian found him sitting on a bench outside the E R smoking a cigarette and grinning.

“Mickey, you can’t smoke this close to the fucking hospital,” he said as he snatched the cigarette away, put it out with his fingers, and pocketed the butt. 

“What the fuck happened? How did you fall? What did the doctor say? They didn’t think you should stay overnight for observation or something? How the fuck did you fall”?

Mickey chuckled, “Slow down, tough guy. The E R Doc shot me up, fucking pain is gone. He faxed a script to the CVS over by us, told me to follow-up with the company Doc. I was thinking you could observe my ass, how ‘bout that”? 

“Well ok, then. I’ll get the truck. Don’t fucking move with your smart ass”.  
He hurried off to get the truck, the sound of Mickey’s laughter following him.

Ian picked up Mickey’s script and bought a shit load of snacks to tide him over. He made sure Mickey was comfortable on the sofa and headed back to work. He had more than enough personal days in his bank to take the rest of the day off, but he figured Mickey would be sleeping most of the day. Plus, Mickey said he would be fine, he would call if anything came up. 

The pain shot was fucking amazing, it knocked the fucking pain right out, and left Mickey with a general sense of well-being. He looked at his pill bottle, Oxycontin 10mg, one every 4 hours. He hoped they were as strong as whatever they shot him up with in the emergency room. He hadn’t felt this peaceful in long fucking time, if ever. He soon dozed off into a peaceful slumber. 

Ian had been home long enough to cook dinner and do a load of laundry before Mickey woke up that night. Ian was glad to see him sleeping, resting so peacefully. He was really concerned about the possible damage the fall caused, though. He knew that back injuries were serious, not something to be fucked with. 

Ian had eaten dinner and folded the laundry when Mickey finally woke up, looking refreshed and happy. He sat up smiling, looking sexy as hell, “Hey baby. How long you been home? Why didn’t you wake me up? Fuck time is it anyway”?

Ian walked over and kissed him, “Been here a while. It’s 10:00, you slept a long time. How’re you feeling? How’s the pain? Kinda worried about the damage to your back”.

Mickey grabbed his phone to check the time for himself, “Holy shit, it is 10:00. I slept that fucking long? Shit. Must’ve been real tired”.

Ian laughed, “What? You thought I was lying? I’m glad you slept, baby. You needed it. Want me to fix your plate? I made smothered pork chops and mashed potatoes”.

Mickey’s stomach growled and he laughed, “Guess that’s your answer, huh? I’m fucking starving. Did you get those little rolls from the bakery on the corner, too”?

“Yeah, Mick, I got those damn rolls you go fucking crazy over. Go wash up, I’ll get your plate”.

Mickey started to get up and howled, “Fuck. Fuck,” and fell heavily back onto the couch. 

Ian came running from the kitchen, “What? What happened? You hurt your yourself”?

“Tried to get up too fast or some shit. Ain’t like I did nothing different. Was just getting up. Fuck. Shit hurts like a motherfucker”.

“Mick, you gotta take it easy. Your fucking back is injured”.

He rolled his eyes, “I know that, Ian. Calm down, fucks sake. I’m fine. Just gotta take it slow”.

“Here, stand up slow and I’ll help you to the bathroom”.

“I can make it, baby. You worked all day, you can’t be hauling my ass to the fucking bathroom and shit”.

“Mickey, stand your ass up real slow and let me help you to the fucking bathroom. Then I’ll help your ass back to this sofa, then I’ll feed your ass, then I’ll put your ass to bed. Now stand the fuck up, with your hard-headed self”.

Mickey flipped him off as he slowly got up. He wrapped his arm around his man’s waist and let him help him to the fucking bathroom. 

A week later, Ian took the morning off to take Mickey to his doctor’s appointment. He had to see the workmen’s compensation doctor because the injury happened at work. Mickey said that was a good thing, he would get his full salary while he was laid up, and his leave bank wouldn’t be touched.

The doctor said the X-ray showed a sprain. It would be painful a while longer, expect to be off for a couple of months, get plenty of rest, no strenuous activity. He gave him the same prescription with two refills, enough to last for three months. 

On the way home, Mickey told Ian what the doctor said. 

“So, no permanent damage, then? That’s good, Mick. Real good. I was worried about that,” Ian said, pleased.

“I know, baby love. You worry too fucking much. Worry about me too much”.

“You wanna stop somewhere before I take you home? Snacks or something”?

Mickey thought for a minute, “Want some pringles, dip and shit. Better get some fucking fruit, too. Just laying up on my ass all the time, I’ll be big as the fucking sofa if I don’t watch out”.

Ian leaned over to kiss him, “More for me to love, baby”.

Mickey rolled his eyes, laughing, “Fuck you, man. Can see you now, hauling my 300 pound ass to the fucking toilet”. Ian laughed along with him.

After Ian left for work, Mickey took a pill and went out to sit on their small balcony. He lit a cigarette, propped his feet up on the railing, and waited for the familiar sense of peace to invade his body. He had taken a pill before they left for his appointment, but with all the moving about, the doc poking and prodding him and shit, he was in pain. 

That’s why they were called fucking pain pills. 

Before long, he felt good, peaceful and shit. He went inside and stretched out across the bed, falling into a deep, peaceful slumber. 

Mickey woke to the sound of Ian unlocking the door and rustling bags. He must’ve gone shopping. Mickey got up slowly. Ah, no fucking pain and he still felt good. Shit, those fuckers did the fucking trick every time. 

He went to the bathroom to wash his face. As he gazed at his refection, he noticed that he looked better, well rested and shit. The dark circles under his eyes were fading, his skin looked healthy, even his hair looked better, wasn’t so limp. He ran his hand through his hair, smiled at himself and went to see if his man needed help.

Ian smiled, “There you are. How’re you feeling? Not over-doing are you”?

“Nah, slept after you left. Feeling good, baby. Need help with anything?” he asked, easing into a chair at the table, reaching for his pill bottle. He didn’t want to give the pain a chance to start.

“Thought we’d order in. Watch some Netflix, whatever you want. No work tomorrow, I can stay up late. Guess we’re laying low for the weekend. I already let Jonas know we won’t be bowling for a while. He sends his best for a speedy recovery and shit. So, what you thinking for dinner, hot stuff”?

“Fuck you, man. The fuck you get those fucking names? You got an old school, corny pet names book hidden around here somewhere?” he asked laughing.

“You are hot. My fucking hot man”.

Mickey rolled his eyes, “What the fuck ever, man. We had pasta the other night. How ‘bout pizza and that Thai shit you always get? We can share. Then I can suck your dick, then we can watch fucking movies, eat popcorn and shit”.

“Mick, you can’t be exerting yourself. Make the shit worse. Sex is out for now”.

Mickey looked at him in alarm, “Fuck you mean, sex is out? How can I hurt my fucking back sucking your fucking dick, Ian? That don’t make no sense, baby. Unless you gonna buck your long, muscle bound ass up and knock me over. I know I got mad skills and shit, but you can practice some fucking restraint if you put your mind to it,” he said with a lascivious wink.

“Go to hell, Mickey. You could twist the wrong fucking way or something. I just don’t want you to hurt your damn self. We’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll google how to have sex with a fucking invalid,” he teased, doubling over with laughter at his own joke.

Mickey threw a banana at his head, laughing along with him. They were happy.

They settled into a routine after Mickey’s doctor’s visit. He managed to convince Ian that a little activity wouldn’t hurt. He made breakfast and packed Ian’s lunch every morning, and spent the day resting, watching TV, reading, and he started dinner most evenings. 

One morning he asked Ian to pick up his medication refill after work. Ian paused, it was too soon. 

“Isn’t it too soon, Mickey? You had enough for a month”.

“I know how many I had, baby. I’m the one taking ‘em. Sometimes the pain gets real bad and I can’t wait 3 or 4 hours for the next one. The pain don’t come on no fucking set schedule. When it hurts, it fucking hurts, man. I just don’t worry you with it. You said yourself I’m looking better, resting and shit. I feel better. Ain’t that what the shit is for”? 

“Not trying to give you a hard time, Mickey. Just want you to be careful with that shit. It’s addictive. All the news outlets talk about the fucking opioid epidemic. I just want you to be ok, baby. That’s all. Of course, I’ll pick ‘em up for you. You gonna call it in”?

“Yeah. You won’t have to wait. Should be ready when you get there. Thanks, baby. Now, what do you want for dinner tonight”?

Ian grinned, “Well, house husband, maybe bake those chicken breasts. I’ll take care of the rest when I get home. Put ‘em in when it’s time for me to get off, I’ll take them out. That way, you only bend once. I’ll take them out and see about the sides. Got that, dearie”? 

Mickey rolled his eyes and laughed, “Fuck you, man. I ain’t no fucking house husband. I’m just laid up, living off my fine ass man. Letting him take care of my ass. A kept man and shit”.

Ian smothered him with a big sloppy kiss and dashed out the door laughing, wiping his mouth. 

After Ian left, Mickey sat at the kitchen table drinking his second cup of coffee. He really didn’t appreciate Ian interrogating him over his fucking pills. He knew that it was out of love and concern, but still. He was a grown ass man, capable of taking his fucking medication. The pills helped him feel better, gave him some peace, fuck’s wrong with that?   
He didn’t feel so shitty these days. Memories of that fucking horrible day didn’t plague him all the damn time. He didn’t have to think about how vulnerable he had been, how he couldn’t control what happened to his ass. How he let Terry and Svetlana take advantage of him, how he let them make a fucking punk out of him. How he let them take advantage of Ian. How he let Terry make Ian sit there and fucking watch that shit. How he was paralyzed with fear, too fucking scared to fight back. How he just sat there and let that whore ride him, and how he let that her demean him all the time. Ian had seen it all. What real man sits still for that shit? How could Ian not pity his useless ass? 

Then there was the whole thing with his damn dick. He just couldn’t get over that shit. Sure, he read the articles Ian downloaded about how the body’s reaction to a stimulus doesn’t mean consent and shit. On some level, he understood that. But still. He fucking ejaculated in that bitch. He didn’t want to, but he did cum in her. 

Anyway, now he slept at night and that scary ass baby didn’t mock him in his dreams. He was going to do what he needed to do to fucking survive. He couldn’t control what those fucking evil assholes did to him, but he could control this. The fucking pills helped him shut that shit down. 

Fuck Ian’s concerns, he didn’t know how much relief the pills gave him. He didn’t get raped. He just watched a rape, big fucking difference. 

As Ian was driving to work, he thought about the pills. Mickey was right, they were to alleviate the pain, but they were also highly fucking addictive. The more you took, the more you needed. Mickey had enough fucking problems, he didn’t need a damn addiction, dependence, whatever the fuck it’s called. Ian decided to monitor the pills more closely. Shit. It’s always something. Life kept fucking with them. It was his job to protect Mickey, and he meant to do just that. 

A month and a half later, Mickey’s back wasn’t any better, and he had already used his last refill. He tried talking to the doctor over the phone, asking him to call in another script. The doctor refused, he needed to see Mickey, assess the pain for himself. 

Mickey was mad as hell when he disconnected the call, “The Fuck? He knows what fucking happened to me. Fucking asshole. Can’t trust those motherfuckers, they don’t give a fuck about patients. It’s all about the mighty fucking dollar to them. Fucking assholes”.

Ian tried to calm him down, “He just needs to see you, baby. I think that’s how it works. The shit you’re on has side effects and shit. With the fucking opioid epidemic going on he’s gotta justify the prescriptions he writes, Mickey”.

“Fuck you, Ian. The fuck you know about my pain, huh? You can feel it, too? Right along with me? Just like you can feel the shit that happened to me when I was raped? Your sympathetic ass don’t know shit about shit”.

Ian was stunned, “I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it. Of course, I can’t feel your fucking pain, Mickey. I was just trying to explain why the doctor needed to see you before he gives you another script. He didn’t say he wouldn’t, baby”.   
He decided to leave the rest of Mickey’s diatribe for later. He needed to think about that shit carefully before he responded.

Mickey got up, “No fucking body asked for your fucking take on prescription protocol, Ian. Whatever you got to say don’t mean shit,” he stalked off to the bathroom holding his back. 

Ian followed him to the bathroom, “When are you going in”?

“As soon as I get some fucking clothes on, Ian”.

“Well, ok. I can let work know I’ll be in late”.

“Don’t fucking bother. I can take an Uber. I know you don’t like to take time off without letting them know beforehand. I’ll be fucking fine”.

“I don’t mind, Mickey. I’ll call now”.

Mickey was losing what little patience he had, “I said it’s fine. Go on to work. See you when you get home. I love you”.  
Ian studied him closely, noting his distress, not wanting to add to it, “Well, ok. Call me if you need anything,” he said, as he walked out of the bathroom.

When Mickey heard him leave the apartment, he heaved a sigh of relief. Fucking know it all asshole. He ain’t no fucking doctor. Prick. 

As it turned out, the doctor gave him another month’s supply with one refill, and he recommended physical therapy three times a week. 

The Uber driver waited while Mickey picked his pills up from CVS. He took three as soon as he got inside the apartment. After a bit, he felt calm enough to call Ian. He felt guilty for the way he talked to him that morning. He was always fucking up something. Ian deserved better than his sorry ass.

Later that evening Ian asked if he had scheduled the physical therapy appointment.

“Not yet. I’ll get around to it. Let’s just relax for now, and enjoy the fucking movie, Ian”.

Ian was worried. He had researched opioid addiction at lunch time and what he learned scared the shit out of him. You can get hooked on that shit in three fucking days. 

“I think it’ll help you, Mickey. Get you back in shape and shit. You should call them tomorrow, yeah”?

Mickey was getting irritated. He had taken a few pills right before Ian came home so he could relax and enjoy the fucking evening. He was gonna have to take some more if Ian didn’t shut the fuck up, he was already worried about what he was gonna do when he ran out. Asshole doc only gave him one fucking refill. 

He took a deep breath, “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. Let’s just watch the movie, baby, ok”?

Ian couldn’t let it go. Fuck, he was worried. “I did some research today, Mickey. Those fucking pills are dangerous. It’s real easy to get hooked on that shit. I think you should start weaning yourself off of ‘em. How many did you take today already”?   
Mickey had enough. What the fuck did Ian know? He wasn’t a fucking doctor. Fuck him and his fucking research. He snapped, “Fuck you, Ian. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Always think you know what I need. Well you don’t, goddamn it. Leave me the fuck alone. I MEAN IT, LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!!”. 

He got up too quickly, his knees gave out, and he fell to the floor, howling in pain. Ian jumped up and bent down to help him up.

He screamed, “DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!!”.

Ian jumped back, stunned, “Let me help you up, Mickey. Get you to the bed. You’re in pain, baby”.

“Don’t need your fucking help. You don’t think I’m in pain. You think I’m fucking addicted. You think I’m a weak ass son of a bitch. You think I just let shit happen to me because I’m fucking weak”.

Ian was trying to understand what Mickey was saying, what he was really talking about. He knew it was about something more than the pills, “Baby, I don’t think you’re weak. I know how strong you are. You’re the strongest, best person I know. I love you, Mickey. Please let me help you to bed. I’m sorry I upset you”.

Mickey found that he couldn’t get himself to the bedroom. Fuck, he couldn’t even get his sorry ass off the fucking floor. He was a fucking useless piece of shit. His fucking body had betrayed him again. He said, “Just help me get on the fucking sofa”.

“If we get you in bed you can stretch out, relax, not have to move again,” Ian reasoned.

“Gonna sleep on the fucking couch. Just help me up, please. Can you just do that”?

Ian got him settled on the couch. He could see the pain Mickey was in, so he asked, “You gonna take a pill? I’ll get some water”.

“Oh, you think the fucking pain is bad enough? Maybe you think I deserve to be in pain. Maybe I’m not hurting enough to suit you. Huh, Ian”?

“Mickey, the fuck are you talking about? Why the fuck would I want to you to suffer? You’re talking crazy. You want the fucking water or not”?

“If you don’t mind”.

Ian set a bottle of water on the coffee table, “You need anything else? Gonna go to bed. I’m tired”. 

Mickey felt guilty for ruining the evening. He was a fuck up, couldn’t do a damn thing right. He needed to take some pills to settle down, the pain was killing him. He was glad Ian was going to bed. He just wanted to take his medication in peace. In fucking peace.

“I’m fine. Go on to bed. See you in the morning. I love you”.

Ian gave him a worried look, “You need help getting to the bathroom before I go”?

“I said I’m fine, Ian. Just leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone”.

“Fine. Good night”.

Ian was shaken. His Mickey was changing right before his eyes, and he didn’t know what the fuck to do about it. He knew that the rape was eating him up, but he flat out refused to go to therapy, saying that he was better now that they were away from Chicago, away from that fucking house and everything it stood for. But Ian knew better. Mickey was worse. 

Now, he had an opioid dependence, maybe a fucking addiction. What the fuck ever it was, he wasn’t gonna let him succumb to the shit. No fucking way. I got you, Mick. I got you, baby.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Svetlana feels pressured, she underestimates Debbie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back in Chicago......

Svetlana was getting desperate. Terry would be out soon, real soon, and she still didn’t know where Ian and Mickey were. She had to do something, so she decided to ask Debbie. She was an easy mark, a stupid girl, playing at being grown. It shouldn’t take much to outsmart her, she was no match for Svetlana. 

But she had to make sure that she didn’t run into Ian’s brother, Carl, or whatever his fucking name is. He was friends with that big, dumb ass Kev. He always watched her every move. At first, she thought he liked her, wanted to fuck her. 

She could work with that, but the one time she flirted with him he told her, “Bitch, I don’t pay for it and I don’t put my dick in nothing nasty. Get your ugly ass outta my face before I kick the shit outta you”. She had read him wrong. 

After that, she made sure she only went to the Gallagher house when he was sleeping or working. 

Along with money for the boy, she always brought groceries, knowing they needed all the help their poor, trashy asses could get. Today, she brought more groceries than usual, and she gave Debbie an extra $40.00. 

She sat at the kitchen table watching Debbie put the groceries away. 

Debbie gushed, “Thank you Svetlana, this really comes in handy. I really appreciate it. Yevy is doing so good. He and Franny love each other, like brother and sister. With the money you give me, I don’t have to look for a part time job, I get to stay home with them, give them the attention they need”.

“Is best. Children need nurture, teach right things,” she said, rolling her eyes because Debbie’s back was to her.

“I need to talk to Mickey, important matter. You have address, phone number, yes?” Svetlana asked.

Debbie turned around, eyeing her curiously, “Doesn’t Kev handle all that”?

I talk myself. Handle myself. Important matter. You know address, yes? You talk to Ian, in touch, yes?” she pressed, thinking 'this bitch'.

Warning bells were going off in Debbie’s head. This sneaky bitch thinks I’m stupid because I don’t give her shit about leaving her baby here all the fucking time. She throws me some cash, buys some food, and thinks she can play my ass. 

She looked Svetlana in the eye and said sweetly, “Yes, I know where they are, talk to ‘em all the time, give ‘em updates about Yev. Sorry, but it’s not my place to give out their information. I’m sure Kev will help you out, though. Have you asked him”?

Svetlana bristled and huffed, “I grown woman. Handle my business, don’t need man in middle talk for me”.

Debbie narrowed her eyes. Don’t let me have to kick this bitch’s ass up in here in front of these kids. Never raising her voice, she said, “I don’t know what to tell you, then”. She folded her arms and waited.

Svetlana jumped up, “I go now, you no help,” she said as she stalked out, ignoring her baby who was reaching out to her with grabby hands.

Later that evening, Debbie called Ian to let him know that Svetlana was trying to find out where they were. She had told Carl before he left for his shift. Ian thanked her and said he would get with Carl.

Mickey listened as Ian talked to Debbie. What the fuck, now? They couldn’t catch a fucking break. He didn’t have time for this shit. He was almost out of fucking pills.

Ian disconnected the call and turned to Mickey, “That bitch is trying to find us. Debbie said she claimed to have important business to talk to you about. She said the bitch is full of shit. Debs told her to talk to Kev and she left there mad. Debs already told Carl”.

“The fuck she want that she can’t tell Kev? She knows that I’m not gonna talk to her ass. Fuck’s going on?” Mickey asked, frowning. Fuck this shit.

“Don’t know, baby. We’ll get with Carl, see what he thinks. Talk to Kev, see if we can figure it out. The shit don’t stop hitting us in the face, no matter what we do,” Ian said with a hollow laugh.

“We’ll handle it. We got Carl and Kev looking out for us. I got a feeling Terry is involved in this shit,” Mickey said, his mind busy, trying to figure it out.

“What? His ass is still locked up. How can he be involved”?

“I don’t know, Ian. Just a feeling I got. Him and that whore always been thick as fucking thieves, you know that”.

“After all we do for her, she’s still gonna turn on us, team up with him against us?” Ian snarled.

“Calm down, baby. We need more information. Then we decide what to do. Let’s not get all worked up till we know more,” Mickey reasoned, trying to act calm. He didn’t want Ian to know how scared he really was. He just knew that Terry was involved. He knew it. Fuck, he needed to take some pills so he could fucking think, figure this shit out.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian confronts Mickey.

Ian was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for Mickey to get home. He had texted that he was running late but was on his way. That was three hours ago, and he didn’t bother to answer any of Ian’s responding texts. 

He really started noticing the changes in Mickey a couple weeks ago. He had lost about ten pounds, saying he didn’t have an appetite. He was always tired, he either nodded or slept all the time. He was moody and irritable, he’s always been grumpy, but now he’s downright argumentative, hostile and shit. He didn’t read magazines anymore, wasn’t interested in anything, he rejected everything Ian suggested.

Ian decided to pay the monthly bills while he waited. They usually did it together, but what the hell. He’d just tell Mickey that he had done it already. It was a great source of pride for them that they could pay their bills on time. They both had their own ATM cards. They even had a fucking savings account. A fucking savings account. Them. They were solidly middle class working motherfuckers.

He noticed several withdrawals from their checking account that he didn’t know about. That was strange because they always told each other when they withdrew money from either of their accounts. They agreed to that before they opened the fucking joint accounts. Mickey was big on tracking their money. 

Now Mickey was withdrawing large sums frequently without telling him. Fuck. He knew why without having to ask. Mickey was using the money to buy drugs. What the fuck was he on, though? How far gone was he? Fuck. They were in fucking trouble. What was he gonna do? Would Mickey let him help? My poor baby, he can’t catch a fucking break.

Mickey walked in, deliberately avoiding Ian’s eyes, “Hey. Sorry I’m late. Ran into a guy I know from work. Talked my ass off about work shit, couldn’t get away from his ass”. 

“Mickey, you texted me over three hours ago”. 

“I said I’m fucking sorry, Ian. Time got away from me. How was work?” he asked, stretching out on the sofa, immediately going into a nod.

Ian looked over at him. He was disheveled, he hadn’t changed clothes in nearly a week, he stank. His skin had a sickly pallor and his beautiful hair was lifeless and limp. Ian felt tears rolling down his cheeks. He shook himself and angrily wiped them away. No time for that shit. I gotta be the fucking strong one. Mickey needs me. He needs me. I gotta stay strong for Mickey.

Ian went to the bathroom and took his pills with water from the bathroom sink. He closed the toilet lid and sat down with his head between his knees, thinking about the best way to approach Mickey.

He finally decided there was no fucking best way, he just had to do it. He sighed deeply as he got up and went into the living room. He lifted Mickey’s feet and sat on the couch next to him. Mickey didn’t even stir.

“Mick, wake up. We need to talk,” he said rubbing Mickey’s legs soothingly.

“I’m up. What’d you want? I’m tired, man. In pain”.

“I need to talk to you. Need you to sit up for a minute”.

“Fuck, man. Told you I’m tired”, Mickey said, struggling to sit up.

“I was paying some bills and I noticed you’ve been withdrawing money. A lot of fucking money. What’d you buy Mickey”?

“That’s my fucking business. It’s my fucking money, too. I still get a check every two weeks. Not like I’m spending your fucking money. Not like you’re taking care of my ass, man,” he snapped.

“I know you still get your check, Mickey. I’m asking you, what did you buy with the fucking money? You need to calm the fuck down and talk to me. I ain’t your fucking enemy”.

Mickey sat up straight, “And you ain’t my fucking keeper, either. I ain’t gotta tell you shit. I’m a grown ass man, Ian. I do what the fuck I wanna with my own shit. You don’t run me. Always think you know what’s best for my ass. Well, you don’t. You fucking don’t. You don’t know shit. Leave me the fuck alone, goddamn it”.

“What are you doing with the money, Mickey”?

Mickey stood up, wobbling, he glared at Ian, “None of your fucking business, and don’t fucking ask me no more. Fuck you”.

Ian stood up, too, “Nah, fuck you. Are you buying drugs? Pills? What”?

“Now you calling me a fucking drug addict, motherfucker? Told you to leave me the fuck alone”. 

Mickey drew back to swing at him, but Ian caught his arm in a vise like grip and twisted it behind his back, “So, you gonna hit me now, Mickey? That what you gonna do”?

“Let me go, motherfucker. I mean it, let me go. I will fuck your ass up, Ian”.

Ian applied more pressure to Mickey’s arm, “You won’t do shit with your drugged out ass. Now calm the fuck down before I kick your ass. You’re gonna tell me what you did with that money, then we’re gonna sit down and talk about this shit like two grown ass men. Hear me, Mickey”?

“Fuck you. Let my arm go. You got me in a fucked up position, hurting my damn back, Ian”.

Ian knew he was hurting him, but he needed to get his attention, “If I let you go you gonna sit your ass down and talk to me”?

“Fuck you, motherfucker. Yeah, now let me go, damn it”.

Ian released him, and Mickey fell back onto the sofa, rubbing his arm, and glaring at Ian with dead blue eyes, “If I wasn’t in so much pain, I’d kick your fucking ass. Tired of motherfuckers taking advantage of me, making me do shit. Forcing my ass to do shit. Fucking tired of it”. 

Ian knew exactly what Mickey was talking about but chose to ignore it for now. They needed to address the missing money. 

So he said, “Just to be clear, you were trying to hit me, Mickey. I stopped you. That’s all I did. I love you, but not gonna let you hit me and shit. I ain’t your fucking punching bag. We got past that shit a long time ago. I grew the fuck up, not so easy to hit me no more. I fucking hit back now”.

“Fuck you, Ian”.

“What did you do with the money, Mickey”?

He rolled his eyes, “Wasn’t that damn much money. Just needed it for something I’m working on. A surprise and shit”.

“Close to $3,000.00 is a fucking lot of money, asshole. What fucking surprise, Mickey”?

“Look, I’ll put the fucking money back, man. When I get back to work, I’ll put in some overtime. Fucking satisfied now”?

“No. I wanna know where the fucking money went, Mickey”?

“Fuck you. Not telling you shit. Said I’ll put the fucking money back”.

“Are you using drugs, Mickey”?

“Think I’m gonna tell you that? Give you another reason to be ashamed of me? To hate me? Another reason to think I’m weak and useless? Fuck you, man. I don’t need you. I don’t need no fucking body. Leave me the fuck alone. I’ll put the damn money back, just leave me alone. Leave me the fuck alone. I ain’t worth it, Ian. I ain’t worth shit.” Broken sobs wracked his body.

Ian tried to gather Mickey in his arms, but he shrugged him away. He didn’t deserve comfort and understanding. He didn’t deserve Ian Gallagher. He didn’t deserve shit. Terry always told him he didn’t deserve shit, that he wasn’t shit. Terry was fucking right. This shit proved it.

Ian blinked back his own tears, squared his shoulders and said, “Mickey, I’ve never been ashamed of you. You’re strong and you’re brave. You’re my hero, Mick. Always have been. I love you, baby. You always try so damn hard. You’re so good, you always try to do the right fucking thing. Even when shit is hard, you try, baby. You’re not useless, and you’re worth everything to me. I’ll fight to the death for you. I will fight for you, Mickey. I won’t let anyone hurt you again. Whatever is going on with you, we’ll fix it together. I’ll never leave you, baby. I told you, when you can’t fight, I’ll do the fighting. I’ll stand for you, Mickey. I got you. Remember when I was dancing at the club? My doped-up ass was passed out in the cold snow in those fucking gold booty shorts, and you picked me up and took me home? Remember that, Mickey? You didn’t give a fuck what I was on, what I’d done, who the fuck I’d done it with. I was yours so you took me home and took care of me. That’s what I’m gonna do for you, Mickey. I’m gonna take care of you. Don’t matter what it is, I got you, Mick. Promise”.

Mickey’s entire body was shaking with his sobs, he could barely speak, but her tried. He had to make Ian understand, 

“I was supposed to take care of you, Ian. Keep you safe and shit. I let bad shit happen to you, let him pistol whip you and shit. He made you watch that shit, and I didn’t help you. I let him hurt you, Ian. I didn’t help you. Now I fucked up again with this shit. I ain’t worth it, Ian. I Just keep fucking up. You deserve better. I’m a fucking useless piece of shit. A waste of fucking space”.

Ian gathered Mickey in his arms, he didn’t fight it this time. He pulled Mickey onto his lap, “There is no one better than you, Mickey. You’re it for me, always have been. You didn’t let that shit happen, you’re wrong to blame yourself. He had a gun on us. You couldn’t help me. They raped you, Mickey. Traumatized us both, baby. There was nothing you could’ve done. He said he was gonna kill us. But, baby, we got out together, and we’re still together. We’re gonna stay together, I’ll see to it, Mickey. Trust me, just fucking trust me. I can bear your weight, baby. On my fucking life, I got you. Nobody’s gonna hurt you like that again”. 

Mickey told Ian that he started buying pills off the street when the doctor stopped giving him scripts. “The pain is so bad, I can’t stand it, man. Don’t know what I’m s’posed to do,” he said, head bowed, too ashamed to meet Ian’s eyes.

“Mickey, look at me. Look at me”.

He briefly raised his head, but he couldn’t bear to meet Ian’s eyes.

“I don’t want you to be ashamed, baby. Not with me, never with me. I love you. We gotta get you some help,” Ian said earnestly.

“I should just leave till I get straight, man. Get myself together and shit. You don’t need this shit”.

“You wanna leave me, Mick? Leave our home? That what you want”?

“Course not. I don’t wanna leave you, Ian. Never wanna be without you. You fucking know that. Just don’t wanna put you through this shit. I need the fucking pills, man. Right now, I fucking need ‘em”.

“Where the fuck you gonna go, Mick? You got some place to go”?

Mickey scrubbed his hands along his face roughly, “I’ll be alright. Just need to get myself right”.

“So, you’ll sleep in the fucking alley, in abandoned houses and shit? Start robbing people so you can buy pills and whatever the fuck else you’re on? Wind up in prison with a fucking addiction? That your fucking plan, Mick”?

Mickey’s head was spinning. He had some pills in his pocket and he needed to take some now, he needed to take the edge off so he could fucking think. Ian was getting on his fucking nerves. He couldn’t stand it. His fucking head was about to explode.

He stood up abruptly, “Gotta take a piss,” he stumbled off to the bathroom.

Ian knew exactly what Mickey was doing in the bathroom. He grew up around drug addicts. He lived in the fucking house with Frank, and with Monica whenever she was around. 

He paced the floor trying to organize his thoughts. They had to get help. That’s the first thing. Would Mickey agree?

Mickey washed a hand full of pills down with water from the bathroom sink. He carefully folded the baggie with the rest of his pills and tucked it deep into his back pocket. He closed the toilet lid and sat down, resting his head on his hands and knees, waiting for the sense of peace to come. He just needed a minute and he would go to Ian. The pills would help him sit and listen to Ian talk. Ian always had a fucking lot to say. 

Half an hour later, Mickey sheepishly came out of the bathroom and sat on the sofa. Ian noted the change in his demeanor. He’s high, but at least he’s calm. Maybe we can get somewhere. “Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yeah. Stomach was upset. Took care of it. All better now”.

Ian rolled his eyes, “We gotta be honest here, Mick. You can’t keep lying to me. You went in there to take some pills and now you’re high. We can’t fix this shit if you keep lying, baby. I’m on your side”.

“I know that, man. Just fucking saying, I feel better”.

“So, what do you think about treatment? Getting some help”?

“Whatever you say, Ian. You always got all the fucking answers, know what’s best and shit. What you want me to do?” he was getting sleepy, he felt himself starting to nod out.

Ian sat down next to him, “Do you wanna get help, Mickey”?

“Fuck kinda question is that? ‘Course I wanna get help”, he said. He was so tired, he needed some fucking sleep.

Ian fought back tears. Mickey was fading out, so he relented, “Why don’t you get ready for bed? We’ll talk some more tomorrow. Ok”?

Mickey didn’t answer. He was out cold.

Ian picked him up and carried him to the bedroom. He laid him down, gently undressed him and covered him up. He wanted to bathe him, but he just stood there looking down at him. I don’t give a fuck what it takes, not gonna give up on you, Mickey. You are mine, gonna take care of you. He put Mickey’s filthy clothes in the hamper. He would make sure Mickey showered and put on clean clothes in the morning.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey talks to a substance abuse counselor.
> 
> Ian learns the extent of Mickey's drug use.

Two days later, they sat in the university’s substance abuse treatment center. Mickey had agreed to talk to a counselor, 

“Yeah, I’ll give it a shot. Whatever, man”.

Ian knew that Mickey needed intensive trauma therapy. He wasn’t a mental health professional, but he believed the pills were a symptom of the trauma caused by the rape. They were Mickey’s way of trying to cope with the pain, he was just trying to get by. Ian figured the counselor would see that and refer Mickey to a therapist. He felt like they were at least starting the fucking process.

Mickey sat there fidgeting, he couldn’t sit still. He did not want to fucking be here. He took some pills before they left, but they weren’t doing the fucking trick. He never should’ve agreed to this shit. Fuck Ian and his fucking ideas. Always trying to fix shit. Fuck. 

He was about to get up and walk the fuck out when he heard his name called. He jolted and looked at the exit with wild eyes. Damn it. Motherfucker.

Ian was looking at him expectantly, so he got up slowly and walked over to the fat faggot standing in the fucking door waiting for him. He rudely brushed past the guy and sat in the chair facing the desk.

“Mr. Milkovich, I’m Tim. How’re you doing today”?

“Mickey. Call me Mickey, man”.

“Good. Mickey, it is. How’re you doing Mickey?” he asked, taking his seat behind the desk. 

“Man. How the fuck you think I’m doing? I’m here ‘cause of pills. That’s how I’m doing,” he scoffed. 

He knew this shit was a fucking waste of time. Fucking waste of his time. He was thinking about how he could catch up with his corner boy as soon as he could get away from Ian’s nagging ass. 

He hoped Ian would just take his ass to work and leave him the fuck alone.

Tim was studying him closely, “Is that really why you’re here, Mickey? Because of the pills? Tell me about the pills, if you don’t mind”.

Mickey rolled his eyes, “Me and Ian already answered that shit on the fucking questionnaire. They didn’t give it to you before you called my ass in here? What kinda place you running here? No fucking communication and shit”?

Tim chuckled, “I have your file, Mickey. I’m asking you to tell me about the pills”.

“Hurt my fucking back at work. It hurts like hell. The doc stopped giving me scripts, I’m still in pain, so I gotta buy off the fucking street. Now, I’m here, sitting in your fucking office, answering your fucking shit questions”.

“Who’s Ian?” Tim asked.

Mickey’s head snapped up, “What? Ian? Fuck you know about Ian”?

Tim noted his reaction, “You said that you and Ian filled out the questionnaire, Mickey”.

He settled a bit, “Yeah. Right. Ian’s my partner. He’s in the fucking waiting room”.

“I see. Do you want to bring him in? Seems like he’s very involved. Could help”.

“I can handle my own shit, man. Don’t need no fucking coddling. Not helpless and shit”.

Tim noted the words Mickey used, “That’s not what I’m suggesting, Mickey. Sometimes it helps to involve one’s partner. But it’s entirely up to you. You said that you can handle your own shit, right”?

Mickey huffed, “Damn right I can. Don’t need Ian babysitting my ass”.

“You can handle your own shit, yet here you are, sitting in my office, dope sick. Explain that to me, Mickey”.

“I just fucking told you, man. I got caught up. Started taking pills ‘cause of the pain. Fucking doc cut me off, fuck my pain and shit, right? I got it under control. Ian decided ‘we’ needed to get help,” he said, using finger quotes.

“What are you taking? Do you even know, Mickey”?

“Yeah, I fucking know. You think I’m stupid? Taking Oxy, little H. Got some 40s the other day”.

“How many are you taking a day, Mickey”?

“Depends, how bad the fucking pain is, man. Few 40s knocks that shit right out. No problem. I’m fucking straight. No fucking pain, no fucking worries and shit”. He didn’t know how many fucking pills he took a day. 

“You were high, you mean”?

Mickey rolled his eyes, “The fuck ever. The pain was fucking gone. I was peaceful”.

“So, you need the peaceful feeling, then”?

Mickey was getting impatient, “That’s what I just said, man. That and the pain was gone”.

“Which would you say is more important, the peaceful feeling, or the absence of pain”?

“Both. When the peace comes, the pain goes”.

“Mickey, did something happen in your life before you hurt your back”?

Mickey eyed him suspiciously, “Lotta shit happened in my shitty life, man. I’m from the fucking south side of Chicago”.

“Anything in particular happen to you? Something bad, something traumatic”?

“Nah. Same old shit. South side shit,” Mickey said dismissively, studying his jagged, dirty nails.

Tim had been doing this job a long ass time. He knew three things about this man for sure. (1) He suffered a severe trauma in his not too distant past. (2) He would OD if he continued his drug use, and (3) He was done talking for today, he had shut down.

So, he explained Medicated Assisted Therapy to Mickey and strongly recommended he seriously consider it, “You’re going to die if you don’t change course, Mickey. You need to do it soon. This treatment protocol has excellent success. Talk it over with your partner and get back to me. When can I expect your call?” he asked.

Mickey snatched up the information, “A’ight. I hear you, man. I’ll get back. I don’t want you bothering Ian with this shit. That HIPPA shit applies don’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, Mickey. HIPPA applies. But you need to get back to me soon. I can get you a bed in a good facility, one of the best. You’ll be treated like any patient with a chronic disease. The treatment paradigm for drug abuse has shifted, there is no longer a stigma attached to it. Now, when can I expect your call, Mickey? Later today”?

Mickey chuckled as he stood up, “Kinda pushy there, huh Tim? I’ll get back, man. Talk it over with Ian, check out my insurance and shit”. 

He didn’t need this shit. Fucking medicated assistance shit. He didn’t need Ian’s nagging ass either. He didn’t need Tim’s ‘concerned’ ass. Fuck ‘em, they didn’t understand what he was going through.

Tim stood up and extended his hand, “Hope to hear from you soon, Mickey. I really do”.

He stood in the door watching as Mickey made his way over to Ian.

When they got home, while Ian was making sandwiches, Mickey got a beer and headed out to the balcony, “Just gonna have a smoke. Be right back, baby”. 

Ian watched quietly as Mickey pulled his stash of pills from a small opening in the railing and swallowed some without even counting them. He reminded himself that Mickey was going into treatment tomorrow morning. That’s progress. 

He sat down at the table and collected himself, then he called Mickey in to eat. 

After lunch, they were sitting on the sofa, going over Mickey’s pamphlets, and some that Ian had gathered while he was waiting. Mickey started getting fidgety, but he calmed down when he remembered that he had a few more pills left in his stash. Should be enough for tonight. He would catch up with dude when Ian left for work in the morning. He should’ve bought extra H for his stash, just in case. Fuck. He remembered that he was going to the fucking facility tomorrow morning. Fuck. Why did he agree to that shit? 

But right now, he was feeling pretty good. He placed a shaking hand on Ian’s knee, “I’ll be locked up anywhere from 30-90 days. That’s a fucking long time, man. You’ll forget all about my sorry ass,” he joked, but he really wasn’t joking. 

Ian saw the way Mickey’s hand was shaking. He brought the hand to his lips and said, “You won’t be locked up, Mickey. They’re treatment facilities, like a small, private hospital, everybody there for the same shit. The same illness. It’s an illness, Mick. Nothing to be ashamed of. I’m proud of you, you’re getting the help you need. I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want to get you all upset. I think all this shit is because of what Terry and Svetlana did to you. It’s because those motherfuckers raped you. I think you got PTSD. I could fucking kill them for what they did. I’m gonna get them one day. Mark my fucking words”. Ian was up and pacing when he stopped talking.

He looked over and found Mickey staring at him with his mouth hanging open. He asked, “What? I mean it, I’m gonna fuck them up”.

Mickey swallowed noisily, “Not that. The PTSD shit. Tim was asking about my past and shit. Asked if something happened to me”.

“Did you tell him? Did you tell him what they did to you”?

Mickey was indignant, “Nah. I just met the motherfucker, Ian. I don’t know shit about his ass, wasn’t gonna tell him my fucking business. Fucks wrong with you, man”?

“I understand what you’re saying, but you’re gonna have to open up and talk so those people can help you, baby. They’re trained for that shit. Went to school to learn how to help you. They wanna help, Mick”.

Mickey was adamant, “Ian, I’m not telling my shit to nobody I just met. Gotta build trust and shit. I know that fucking much”.

“Fine. I’m just glad you’re gonna get help. I’ve been so scared you were gonna OD, fucking with those pills. That shit is fucking dangerous, Mickey. Surprised you didn’t start fucking with smack”.

Mickey quietly studied his shoes. 

Ian waited for a response, after none was forthcoming, he exclaimed, “Mickey!!! The fuck, you didn’t! Did you”?

Mickey wouldn’t look up, “Did it a few times. Dude didn’t have no pills. It was just a few times, Ian. I’m fucking sorry. I’m just a fucking mess, putting you through all this shit. I’m not worth it”.

“Mickey, stop it. You’re worth everything to me. We’ll fix it. I got you”. Ian wasn’t surprised, he just hated it. He knew firsthand how this shit worked.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey puts himself in danger.
> 
> Ian reacts violently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual and physical violence. Please beware.

When Ian woke up the next morning, Mickey was gone. No fucking note, nothing. He was disappointed, but he wasn’t really surprised. He knew that drug addicts didn’t keep their word. 

He went to work but he couldn’t concentrate. After a couple hours, he went to his supervisor and requested a week off. 

His supervisor got up and walked around his desk and stood close to him, too fucking close, “Sure, Ian. Whatever you need. Is everything alright? I’m here for you. Anything you need. Anything at all,” he said, stroking Ian’s arm. 

Ian stepped back, “Just a family emergency. Thank you, Jay,” he said as he hurried from the office. 

He left work and drove home. Still no Mickey. He didn’t know what the fuck to do, so he drove around looking for him. 

It wasn’t hard for him to find the general area he was looking for, it looked the same in every fucking city. Abandoned buildings, desperate people hanging on the corners, nice cars pulling up and driving away quickly. After circling the area a few times, he got out and walked around, looking for any sign of Mickey. He asked a few people, but no one knew who the fuck he was talking about. 

He finally decided that he would have to actually go inside the fucking dope dens if he wanted to find Mickey. He needed help for that shit.

He went home and called the only person in the world he knew he could depend on to help him, and not pass judgement.

He scrolled down his contacts and pushed ‘send’.

“Ian. What up, man”?

“Carl, I need you”.

An hour and a half later, they were parked on a block littered with abandoned buildings and sketchy ass people. Carl looked around, “Might as well start here. You ready”?

Ian heaved a heavy sigh, “Let’s do it. Fuck”.

Mickey wasn’t in the first building, nor was he in any of the other four buildings they tried. A few people had seen him around, but none had seen him today. It was getting dark and Ian's desperation was mounting. Where the fuck is he?

Carl got behind the wheel and drove to the next block over. He stopped the truck in the middle of the street, jumped out and jogged across the street. Ian watched him talk to a guy standing on the corner.

He got back in the truck and pointed to a burned out building across the street, “Dude said he’s in there. Sold him some shit earlier and he went in there. Says he hasn’t come out”.

Ian was half way across the street before Carl stopped talking. 

“Shit. Well ok, then,” Carl said to the empty truck. He parked quickly, and ran to catch up with his brother.

“Ian, you stay out here, I’ll go in. We don’t know what the fuck’s up in that bitch, what shape he’s in. Stay out here, man, let me go get him,” Carl pleaded. 

“That guy said Mickey’s in there. I’m gonna get him out, Carl. Let’s fucking go”.

Carl shivered involuntarily, “Let’s go, then”.

It was dark inside the building. People were passed out or dead on the garbage strewn floor, on the filthy, broken couches and chairs. 

Ian heard the voice before he ever saw the man it belonged to. He followed the voice as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and his nose adjusted to the horrible stench. 

“Told ya I was gonna get up in this ass, you pretty motherfucker. Told ya I was gonna fuck this pretty ass. Knew I was gonna get it. Betchya know how ta take it real good, I can tell. Shit, I’m ready to cum already, want it so fucking bad. Been wantin this shit. Thought ya was too good for ole Irv, didn’t ya? Seen you turn up that pretty nose at me. You jus another fuckin dope fiend, jus like me, motherfucker. When your ass wake the fuck up, I’ma tell ya how I fucked that ass, and you gonna feel it too, cause I’ma tear that asshole up, bitch. Jus had to wait till your sorry ass passed out, pretty boy. I been waitin for this ass, been watchin ya a long ass time. Been real patient and shit. Gonna fuck it real good for you, pretty boy. It’s mine now, goddamn bet that hole is pretty and shit. Raise your damn ass up so I can this tight ass shit offa you. Gonna take my time with this ass. Gonna fuck it raw, pretty baby, tear that shit up. I got somethin’ to put up there, bitch. Shit I’ma cum ‘fore I get up in it. Raise your damn ass up. Tired of waitin, wanna fuck you right now. Ooh wee, my fucking dick is hard for you baby boy. Shit, it’s leaking, look at this shit. Feel so good already, baby. I’m ready to get up in it. Gotta have that ass. Gonna make it mine”.

The man was on his knees, pants around his ankles, one hand stroking his dick while he struggled to get Mickey’s jeans down with his other hand. 

Ian released a low, guttural sound, took two long strides across the room, grabbed the man by his pants, hauled him off Mickey and threw him against the wall on the other side of the room. 

He saw Carl taking care of Mickey out of the corner of his eye. 

The man bounced off the wall hard, landing on his back stunned and disoriented, “The fuck? Who the fuck is you, motherfucker”?

Ian strode across the room and stomped his face. The man grabbed his face, groaning in agony. Ian growled, “That’s who the fuck I am, motherfucker. You wanna rape somebody? Take advantage of somebody”? 

Ian hauled him up by his filthy, matted hair, hit him in the face and let him drop, stomping his face again when he hit the floor. The man spit out a mouthful of blood and teeth, he grabbed his face, trying to make sense of the situation, 

“Was jus’ gonna fuck ‘im a lil bit. Laying up there like that, all pretty and shit. You seen that ass he got, man? Wasn’t gonna hurt him much. Jus’ want that ass, man. You can get some, too. Fuck if I care. I’m gettin’ mine first, though, was here first. Been waitin’ to get at it. Won’t take me long, want it so bad. I can take another turn affa you get yours. Fuck he gonna do ‘bout it with his doped up, sorry ass”?

Ian stomped his face again, “Keep talking motherfucker. Say some more shit”.

“The fuck you got to do with it anyway, bitch? Fuck you come from? A’int never seen your long ass ‘round here b’fore,” the man said, rubbing his head and wiping blood from his eyes, trying to get a good look at this crazy motherfucker.

Ian stomped him in the groin, then ground the heel of his boot in his balls. The man spewed vomit and doubled over groaning. 

Carl had checked to make sure Mickey was breathing, straightened his clothes, and threw him over his shoulder, ready to get the fuck out of there. 

A drugged-out woman, with a filthy patch over one eye looked up and belched loudly, startling Carl, “Hey, leave mouse alone. My mousey. My friend mousey”.

Carl collected himself and growled, “Shut the fuck up, you one eyed, ugly bitch. Go back to fucking sleep. Useless piece of shit”.

He stood by the doorway with Mickey over his shoulder, watching his brother. He was becoming more alarmed with each vicious stomp Ian delivered. 

The man howled, “Motherfucker, what’s your fuckin’ problem? Jus’ wanna fuck pretty boy. Fucks wrong with you”?  
Ian stomped his face again. Carl assumed it was the fool’s face. He couldn’t tell anymore, it was a fucking bloody pulp.

“We gotta get outta here. Get him some help, leave that asshole, man,” Carl said, nervously. 

Carl was getting desperate, he almost said Ian’s fucking name, something you never did under these fucking circumstances. He had to get them up out of this bitch. So much shit could go wrong here. 

Ian snarled, “Get him in the fucking truck. I’m coming. Gotta take care of something first. Be right there. Go on. Get him the fuck outta here. Now, man”.

Carl was scared Ian was going to kill that fool, “Don’t kill him. Fucking slime ball ain’t worth it, man. He didn’t hurt him, we got here in time. Come on, man”.

Ian’s voice was filled with venom, “But he was gonna rape him. He was pulling his fucking pants down. Had his fucking dick out, he was gonna fuck him. He was gonna fucking rape him.”

With that, Ian pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it at the man. A fucking gun that Carl didn’t even know he had. He thought that he was the only one with a fucking gun. Shit. He had to stop him.

Ian kicked the guy in the chest hard, “Wake up, motherfucker. Thought you wanted to fuck that ass. Wake the fuck up, you didn’t get in that ass yet. Wake the fuck up, you lowlife, raping motherfucker”.

The guy moaned, “Don’t wanna fuck him. Don’t wanna fuck. You can have his ass. Don’t want nothing to do with his ass”. This big motherfucker was going to kill him. Pretty boy wasn’t worth all this. Fuck him and his ass. 

Ian pointed the gun at the man and Carl hollered, “Don’t kill him, brother. Don’t kill him”.

Ian grinned viciously, “Not gonna kill his degenerate ass. Just gonna help him remember that pretty ass. Want him to think about the ass he tried to rape every day for the rest of his miserable, fucking life”. 

He put a bullet in both knees and calmly put the gun back in his waistband without batting an eye.

Carl had never seen this version of his older brother, but he had always suspected that Ian had a fucking dark, violent side. He was seeing it now and he never wanted to see it again.

They hadn’t been in the building five minutes, but Carl felt liked he had aged five fucking years. He had been sure Ian was going to blow that fool’s brains out. He was still processing the fact that the guy was still alive when Ian abruptly turned away from the fool, and in one long stride, he had Mickey in his arms and was shouldering his way outside. 

Carl shook himself, cast one last glance at the bloody fool howling and writhing on the floor before following his brother outside.

Ian climbed in the back, “We gotta get him to the ER, Carl. Dunno what he took. Could be pills, could be H. Fuck, probably both, who knows what else,” he said as he gently, but carefully examined Mickey’s body.

“Ok, man,” Carl said as he started the truck and sped off.

Mickey was admitted to the hospital. He didn’t OD, but he was damn near comatose. He didn’t wake up till late the next afternoon. Ian sat in a chair in the corner of his hospital room, keeping watch over him the entire time. 

Mickey opened his eyes slowly and scanned the room. A fucking hospital room? The fuck? When his eyes landed on Ian, he immediately turned his head away in shame. 

He had no memory of his near rape, but he did remember taking the pills and snorting smack.

Ian didn’t say anything. He just sat there, quietly regarding Mickey. 

The nurse bustled in, “Oh. You’re awake. How’re you feeling”?

“Fine. When can I leave”?

The nurse looked over at Ian, then back at Mickey, “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Milkovich. Just let me take your vitals. 

Make sure everything is ok. You were out for quite a while”. 

The nurse finished up. “Well, then. Everything seems to be in order. Let me get the doctor and we’ll get you out of here,” she said, glancing at Ian again before she left. 

Ian still hadn’t said a word, and that was stressing Mickey the fuck out. Why won’t he come out with it? Tell me he’s kicking my sorry ass out and be done with it? Fuck’s he waiting for? He must know what I did, what’s he waiting for? 

Just as he was about to ask him what he was waiting for, the doctor walked in.

“Mr. Milkovich. Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?

“I’m fine. Just wanna leave. The nurse said I could”.

Without preamble, the doctor said, “You’re at risk for overdose, Mr. Milkovich. You won’t survive many more drug binges. Are you trying to kill yourself, Mr. Milkovich”?

He was not prepared for that shit, “Fuck did you say to me”?

“I asked you if you are trying to kill yourself, Mr. Milkovich?” the doctor’s gaze never wavered.

“Fuck you. Kinda fucking question is that to ask a patient”?

“A perfectly legitimate one when a patient shows up in my ER full of Oxy and smack. If Mr. Gallagher hadn’t brought you in when he did, the question might very well be moot. Your continued drug use is damaging your heart, Mr. Milkovich. That’s just the damage we know about. We didn’t run tests on your other vital organs. Our job was to stabilize you, and we did that. I recommend you check yourself into a treatment facility and deal with your problems. I urge you to take care of that immediately. Good day, Mr. Milkovich and good luck”. 

With that, the doctor nodded at Ian and walked out.

Ian still didn’t say a word, but his eyes were trained on Mickey.

The nurse came back in with his discharge papers, “Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll bring a wheelchair,” she smiled and left the room.

Mickey couldn’t take it anymore. The fucking doctor’s fucked up bedside manner, and Ian just sitting there cool as a fucking cucumber, not saying a fucking word. What happened to ‘we’ll fix it, baby. I got you.’ Fucking bullshit, all of it.

He sat up and turned to face Ian, “You got nothing to say all of a sudden”?

Ian’s expression was impassive, his voice cold, “I’m all talked out, Mick. Is there something you’d like me to say”?

“Just thought you’d wanna tell me to get my shit outta the apartment and get the fuck outta your life”.

“Is that what you want me to tell you? You don’t need my permission to get your shit and leave. You don’t need my permission for shit, Mickey. You’re a grown ass man. You do you, man”.

“Why are you even here if you don’t care anymore? If you don’t care what happens to me”?

“I never said any of that shit. But if it helps with the bullshit you deal in, go with it, man”.

“The fuck are you talking about? The bullshit I deal in? What fucking bullshit”? Mickey snapped.

“Whatever. You gonna put your shit on so you can leave and go do what you do”?

Mickey was pissed. Ian heard what that fucking doctor said and he’s not gonna talk to me about getting treatment? The fuck? The doctor said Ian brought me here. How did he find me? Maybe finding me like that was the final fucking straw. No fucking more, he’s done with my useless ass.

Mickey got dressed in silence, while casting furtive glances in Ian’s direction. 

“I’m ready, man. I’ll get my shit from the apartment and be outta your fucking life”. 

He pushed the buzzer for the nurse, telling her he wasn’t going to ride in a fucking wheelchair.

On the elevator ride down, Mickey said, “Gonna need some money to find a place to stay, from the joint accounts and shit”.

“Ok,” Ian said dispassionately.

When they stepped off the elevator, Ian said, “You wanna wait while I get the truck”?

“Nah, I’m cool, I can fucking walk”.

Ian was busy texting while they walked. Mickey asked, “Who the fuck you texting? Work”? 

He’s got another motherfucker to take my place already? Shit.

“Nah. Carl, telling him we’re leaving the hospital”.

Mickey was confused. Carl? “Why does he need to know that?” he asked.

“So he can get ready to go home,” Ian answered with a stone face.

“He’s here? Why the fuck is he here? He dropping Liam off or something”?

“Liam’s at home. Sure you’re up to walking”?

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure. Why is Carl here, Ian”?

“Needed him to help me with something”.

Mickey’s mind was working overtime. What happened to make Ian call his brother? 

His mind was foggy, but he hadn’t been out that fucking long, a day at the most. He remembered leaving the apartment while Ian was still asleep. He just wanted to get straight before he checked into the fucking facility. Dude had some H, said it was grade A shit. He thought why the fuck not? Next thing he remembers is waking up in the fucking hospital. What could’ve happened to make Ian call Carl? Something at work? Fuck.

They settled in the truck and Mickey looked over at Ian. The prick wasn’t gonna tell him shit, his fucking chin was set.

After a few minutes, his mind was running away from him. He needed some fucking answers. Ian couldn’t just fucking ignore him, so he tried again, “What did you need Carl to help you with, Ian”?

“We handled it,” he answered shortly.

“The fuck, Ian? Why did you have him come here? Somebody fucking with you or something”?

“Nah. It’s all good. Leave it alone, Mickey”.

Ian appeared to be concentrating on traffic, but he was really thinking about his conversation with Tim. He had called the drug counselor while Mickey was still out. He explained the shape Mickey was in, leaving out the details of the assault. He asked if Mickey could be admitted to the facility directly from the hospital.

“Is that what he wants, Ian”?

“I don’t know. He’s still asleep. I wanna be able to tell him it’s all arranged when he wakes up. Get him in there before he kills his damn self”.

“I understand, Ian. Believe me, I understand. You’re right to be concerned, but it has be his choice. He’s got to want the help”.

“I fucking know that, man. He’s gonna kill himself. You don’t know how fucked up he was when we found him. He didn’t even know what was happening to him”.

“I understand, Ian. Help is available, but he has to ask for it. That’s the only way it’ll work. I’m so sorry. I know you want to help him. I want to help him, too”.

Ian was desperate, “We talked about it when we left the clinic. Went over all the shit you gave him, and he made up his mind to check in the next day. Said he was gonna check in. Then when I woke up, he was fucking gone. No note, nothing. Looked for his ass all fucking day, found him just in time. That should count for something, he was gonna check in. I swear, he was gonna,” Ian pleaded, his voice breaking.

“But he didn’t, Ian. He wasn’t committed. Maybe he thought he was, but he wasn’t. He got high instead. His commitment is to getting high, not to getting help, son,” Tim said gently.

“So, we just sit back and let him kill himself? The fuck kinda plan is that”?

“We just make sure he knows the consequences. I know Dr. Anderson, she’ll tell him straight when he wakes up, leave no room for doubt. As for your role, let him know that his decisions are his own. He’ll expect you to point out how bad this all is, tell him what he needs to do, give him ultimatums. I advise you to back up, let him take all the responsibility. He already knows how bad this is. Anything you say at this point, is stating the obvious. He told me when we talked that he’s a grown ass man. Let him be that, Ian. I’m not suggesting you turn your back on him because he needs you, probably more than he’s ever needed you. Do you understand what I’m saying to you”?

“Fuck. I guess so”.

Tim sighed deeply, sometimes his job fucking sucked, “I know it’s hard, son. But it’s the best we can do for now. Feel free to call me anytime”.

Ian wiped his eyes, “Ok. Thanks Tim,” he disconnected the call with a heavy heart.

Well, the doctor had certainly done her fucking job. The rest is on Mickey. Did he really want to die? 

Ian hated Terry and Svetlana with a passion, they caused this shit. He swore that he would get even if it was the last fucking thing he ever did. 

Mickey sat in the car trying to figure out why Carl was in Evanston. What the fuck is Ian keeping from me? Is he leaving me? Did Carl come to take him back to Chicago? That’s gotta be it. 

That’s why he didn’t say shit back at the hospital, he’s leaving my sorry ass. Told me to do what the fuck ever. Didn’t even mention that treatment shit. Fuck. He’s gonna leave me. 

He looked over at Ian, who was staring straight ahead. Did Ian talk to Carl about him? Shit. He must’ve told him something. Fuck it, he’d find out soon enough. His fucking head was killing him. He wanted to check his pockets to see if his pill stash was still there. 

He decided to wait. He needed to figure out what the fuck was going on with Ian. 

Carl was sitting on the sofa watching TV when they walked in. He immediately picked up on the tension between the two. 

Mickey said, “Hey Carl, what up man”?

“Yo Mickey, what up, man? How’re you feeling”?

Before Mickey could answer, Ian asked Carl, “What time you heading out”? 

“Just waiting for you to get back. You take care of everything? Y’all good”?

“All set. Thanks for everything, man,” Ian said, heading to the kitchen. 

“Want me to fix you something before you leave? Won’t take long. You hungry, Mickey?” Ian asked, opening the fridge.

“Nah, I made some eggs and shit when I got back here. I’m good,” Carl said.

“I could eat”, Mickey said. He was confused. Ian’s shit wasn’t packed. Carl was getting ready to leave? The fuck’s going on? 

Ian was still ignoring him, wouldn’t even look at him. He was starting to feel dizzy, so he sat down. Be just his luck to faint like a fucking pussy in front of Ian’s brother.

Carl got up, eyed the two warily, and grabbed his keys from the table, “Guess I’ll head on out. Hit me up if you need me. Later, assholes”.

Mickey’s head was pounding. He’s not leaving me? The fuck? Why was Carl here, then? He needed to know. Was someone fucking with Ian? 

Was he gonna have to give a motherfucker a beat down for fucking with Ian? Why won’t Ian tell him? Does he think I can’t protect him? He called Carl for help instead of me ‘cause he thinks I’m useless?

He went into the kitchen, “Ian, why was Carl here if he didn’t come to take you back home”?

Ian looked up in confusion, “What”?

“What did you need help with? You think I can’t protect your ass? You had to call your little brother? How come you didn’t tell me? I could’ve taken care of it”.

Ian stood with his back to Mickey, facing the stove. The fuck is he talking about? He can’t take care of his own ass, but he’s worried about me? 

My poor baby. I don’t know what the fuck to do, how to help him. Then he remembered what Tim said so he squared his shoulders and faced Mickey.

“I told you, it’s fine. Nothing for you to worry about. Wanna wash up? Food’s almost ready. Just gotta scramble the eggs,” he said.

Mickey wasn’t satisfied with that answer. That non-fucking answer. Ian was hiding some shit, and he knew it. 

But this was his chance to see if he still had his stash, take a few pills, calm the fuck down. Then he could convince Ian to tell him what the fuck was going on.

He said, “Ok, be right back. Just gonna wash up a little. Take a shower and shit later”. 

Ian knew that Mickey would be looking for his drugs the first fucking chance he got. He wondered how Mickey would react when he didn’t find anything. The ER nurse told Ian that they confiscated the pills and H they found in his pocket, so he steeled himself for whatever came next.

Mickey frantically searched his pockets, turning them inside out. Fuck. Where is my shit? One of those fucking addicts probably stole it while I was out. Low life motherfuckers. 

He remembered that nasty ass fucker that always watching him, always lurking the fuck around, telling him how pretty he is. Fucker said he was gonna fuck him. Nasty motherfucker would take his dick out, stroking it, licking his fucking lips. Maybe he stole it. He was gonna kick his fucking ass the next time he saw him. 

He remembered that nasty, one eyed bitch that was sprawled out next to him, grinning. Ugly fucker. Maybe she stole his stuff. 

He finally decided it was his own damn fault, should’ve just waited for Ian to leave for work and did his shit at home like he’d been doing. Wouldn’t have to worry about those low life motherfuckers. He wasn’t like them, he had a home.   
He wasn’t a fucking drug addict like them. Homeless and shit. He had a fucking bank account, money he could get when he needed it. 

Then he remembered that he told Ian he was gonna pack his shit and move out. He bit back a sob, he didn’t have a fucking home anymore. He didn’t have Ian anymore. Ian didn’t tell him to stay, he wanted him to leave. He wasn’t gonna stop him. 

Ian didn’t even argue when he said he needed money for a place. Yeah, Ian wanted his fucking ass gone. Fuck him then, at least he’d have money to handle his fucking business. He decided he needed to make a fucking plan, get his shit together. First thing, he’d get some money, get straight, then find a fucking place. Yeah, that’s what he would do.

Feeling some better now that he had a plan, he went back into the kitchen and sat down. Ian put the plates on the table and sat down across from him.

They ate in silence. The shit was stressing Mickey out. So fucking what if he had a plan? Why was Ian acting so fucking unconcerned? How the fuck could he stop caring so quickly? How’s that fucking possible? 

Finally, he had enough, he laid his fork down and pushed his plate away, “Why you so fucking quiet, man? You ain’t got no questions and shit? Always got shit to say about how ‘we’ gonna fucking fight ‘together’ and shit. The fuck happened to all that? You fucking done with me, Ian? You out”?

“What’re you asking me, Mickey? Fuck are you talking about”?

“Just curious, why you ain’t got no questions, man? I deserve to know if you’re done with me. Just want you to come out and fucking say it. I shouldn’t have to wonder and shit. Be a fucking man and say it”.

“Far as I can tell, you already said it. You said you were gonna pack your shit and leave. You said you needed money for a place. I figure half the money in both accounts is yours. Figure we go down to the bank together, close out the accounts, split the money, be done with it. Did I miss anything, Mick”?

He snarled, “So that’s it, huh? Just like that, we’re done? All the years we been together, all the shit we been through, all our plans. Fuck all that, huh, Ian? You fucking said you’d always be there for me. The fuck happened to all that shit? All your fucking promises and shit? Fuck you, man”.

Ian regarded him intently and carefully considered his words before he spoke, “Mickey, I meant every fucking word I ever said to you, all of it. You made your decision, you told me what you were gonna do, how shit was gonna be. Now you wanna accuse me of walking away from you? That’s utter fucking bullshit. But that’s your fucking M O now, ain’t it? You deal in bullshit. But make no mistake, I love you, I’ll always love you. I want to help you, if you want my help. Based on what you fucking said, you don’t want shit from me. If it helps you to feel better about your fucked up choices, if it makes you feel better to turn the shit on me, then you do you. Like you always say, you’re a grown ass man”.

“So, you don’t fucking care if I don’t get help? If I don’t go that fucking facility”?

“Does it matter what I want? What the fuck do you want”? 

“I don’t wanna lose you. That’s what I fucking want, Ian”.

Ian shook his head, “That’s what you don’t want, Mickey. What do you want? That’s the fucking question here. What do you want for yourself”?

“I just fucking told you, goddamn it. What? You want me to beg your ass or something? Fuck that, man.” He needed to get the fuck outta here. Now. He needed to leave right fucking now. He couldn’t do this shit. 

He pushed his chair back violently and got up, “Fuck you. I don’t need your ass. I ain’t begging your ass for shit. Gonna get away from your ass, away from all this shit. Fuck being domesticated and shit. I don’t fucking need your fucked up judgmental ass, your sanctimonious bullshit. I can make it, fucking watch me, bitch”. He was wild-eyed and shouting, spittle flying.

Ian was fucking mad too, “You’re the only bitch up in here, bitch. You don’t fucking scare me”.

Mickey shouted, “I’ll kick your fucking ass, Call me another bitch”.

Ian stood up, kicked his chair back, and spat, “Bitch”. 

Ian knew this was getting out of hand. This is not the way Tim said to handle it, but he was sick of Mickey’s ass, he almost got his fucking ass raped. So, he stood there fuming, chest heaving, waiting.

Mickey’s nostrils were flaring, fists clenched at his sides, “Just give me some fucking money and I’ll get the fuck out. Come back and get my shit, settle the fucking accounts later. Just need enough money to get a room. Just wanna get away from your fucking ass”. 

“I ain’t giving your drugged out, dope sick ass shit,” Ian said contemptuously.

“Don’t make me kick your ass. I’m trying to get the fuck up outta here. Don’t make me tear this bitch up, Ian,” Mickey shouted.

“You touch anything in here but your shit, I promise you, I’ll kick your fucking ass. You gonna need a fucking fix when I get through with your ass. Try me, with your bad ass. Come on, bitch, I want you to”.

“Look, I’m trying to leave”.

“Get the fuck out, then. Let’s go to the fucking bank, you’ll have all your fucking money. Then you can go kill your fucking self in style. Go out in a big fucking way. Have a fucking party, set all your drugged out friends up”.

“I told you I’ll come back for that shit. I just wanna get a room. I know you got some cash, I saw it when you filled the fucking truck up, man”.

“What, now you fucking deaf and addicted? That a fucking side effect of smack, bitch? Yeah, I got some fucking cash, and I ain’t giving your ass shit. Think you bad enough to take it? Come on, try it. Badass Mickey Milkovich, fuck you. I wanna knock your ass out. Come the fuck on, bitch. Step the fuck to me”.

Mickey was so mad, his eyes were crossed, he was out of his head, he wasn’t thinking straight. He walked up to Ian and swung, Ian ducked and hit him dead in the face, dropping him.

He stood there looking down at Mickey’s prone body, berating himself. 

He had wanted to hit Mickey, wanted to hurt him, to knock some sense into his ass. He was mad at Mickey for putting himself in a dangerous situation. 

For almost getting his ass raped. A fucking gain. The first fucking time, he couldn’t help it. This time, he put his own ass in danger. All that shit could’ve been avoided. 

How dare he sit his ass up in a fucking drug den and pass the fuck out? Set his own damn self up to be raped by that fucking degenerate motherfucker. That shit is on him. Stupid drugged out, motherfucker. 

The nasty fucker had his fucking dick out, he was gonna get that ass. If we’d been a fucking minute later, I would’ve killed that bastard for sure. 

If I’d caught him fucking Mickey, raping Mickey, he would be fucking dead, and my ass would be getting fucking arraigned right about now. And Mickey's doped up ass wouldn't even know what the fuck happened. 

And for fucking what? ‘Cause Mickey had to get high in a fucking dope den full of drugged out lowlifes. 

So, yeah, he egged him on, but now what? Nothing is fucking changed. When he wakes up, he’ll still be an addict, still be a drug seeking motherfucker. 

Ian knew he had done wrong, probably made the shit worse. Maybe he should’ve just told Mickey that he almost got raped, just told him the fucking truth. But he was scared, he didn’t know how Mickey would react to that shit. He hadn’t even dealt with the first fucking rape yet. 

Ian was drained as he sat there looking at Mickey. He couldn’t bring himself to pick him up and lay him on the sofa. He was so fucking conflicted. He didn’t know what the fuck to do. 

So, he opened a beer and just sat there, waiting for him to wake up. 

Mickey finally woke up. He looked around thinking, ‘that fucker knocked me out’. Fuck. He got up slowly and walked out the door without a word or a backward glance. 

Ian didn’t move. I guess this is it. I ran him away. He’s gonna kill himself. He thought of the many ways he should’ve handled the situation. 

But he had chosen to hurt Mickey. Just like everyone else, he chose to hurt Mickey. He felt like shit.

Mickey had his ATM card. He would find a fucking machine and get some fucking money. That’s what he should’ve done anyway. 

No, he had to force a fucking confrontation. Ian was probably feeling all guilty and shit. Sitting up there berating himself and shit. 

Good fucking job, Mickey. Not enough to destroy your damn self, gotta fuck Ian up in the process. 

The only person in the fucking world that gives a fuck about you. The only person that ever gave a shit about you. The only fucking person that ever loved you. 

He knew that Ian still loved him, didn’t want him to leave. Yet, he had to fuck Ian over. He knew he was wrong when he was saying that shit to Ian, but he couldn’t fucking stop himself. 

Why the fuck not? All Ian had done was try to help him. Shit.

He looked around and saw an ATM further down the street. He quickened his pace, wondering if dude was on his regular corner. 

He would get his shit and stop off in that shithole he used yesterday. He wouldn’t stay this time, just handle his business and call an Uber, find a room for the night. Make sure he was safe. 

He shuddered thinking about Ian finding him in that shithole, passed out. Must’ve scared the shit outta him. Well, nothing he could do about that shit now. From now on, he’d make sure he was safe. He owed Ian that much, at least.

He came to a sudden halt. Fuck. He had walked past the fucking machine. The fuck? He decided to keep walking, sure he’d run across another one. They were everywhere, stores, gas stations and shit. No problem. He kept walking. The fuck time is it? He pulled his phone out. Just after 3 pm. 

He would call Ian from his room, let him know he was safe, didn’t want him to sit there worrying all fucking night. He would apologize to him, tell him that he loved him, not to worry and shit. 

He hated himself for subjecting Ian to that shit last night, to all this shit. Is that why he called Carl? To help him find Mickey’s doped up ass? Is that why Carl was here? 

Shit. His fucking head was muddled. He hoped dude was at the spot. Why did Carl come here?

He stopped walking and looked around. Where the fuck was he? Shit. He spotted a gas station a ways up the street. He went in and bought a bottle of water. He stood there and guzzled the entire bottle, eyeing the ATM in the corner. 

He withdrew $200. Yeah, just enough to get what he needed. He’d get extra H, get a room and be in for the fucking night. 

For some reason, the more he thought about it, he didn’t want to go in that shithole he used yesterday. The thought of it made his skin crawl. It was fucking filthy in there. That fucking freak always lurking around, stroking his dick and licking his lips. 

Nah, he was gonna pass on that shit. He kept walking.

He spotted his dude, walked over and got what he needed. Dude said, “Irv got shot last night, man”.

“Fuck is Irv?” Mickey snapped, about to walk away.

“That big, nasty motherfucker, man. Big ole dude, bad feet and shit. He was always drooling over your ass. Said he was gonna get that ass,” dude said snidely.

“The fuck you talking about, bitch? You saying I’m a fucking faggot or some shit, motherfucker”?

“Man, ain’t saying you’re shit. Don’t give a fuck either way. We do business, that’s all I fucking care about. Just telling you what went down. Sorry I mentioned it to your ass”.

“Fuck you, man. He dead or something”?

Dude sucked his teeth, “Nah, they say a big, tall motherfucker shot up both of his legs, ankles or some shit. Stomped his ass real good before he shot him”.

Mickey was stunned, “A tall guy shot him, you say? He by himself”?

“That’s what I heard, man. Nobody ever seen him ‘round here before. Didn’t say if he was by himself. Heard they took Irv outta there with his fucking pants around his damn ankles, dick hanging out and shit. Musta tried to fuck the wrong ass, man. You went in there, you didn’t see nothing, motherfucker? It was ‘round the time I saw your ass go up in there, didn’t see your ass come out either”. 

He didn’t tell Mickey that some guy came looking for him, and he sent the guy in there. A tall motherfucker went in with him. No, he’d keep that to himself. Might come in handy. He knew how to handle useful information, and he had a feeling this might turn out to be real useful information. 

“Nah, man. I didn’t see none a that. Must’ve been out or some shit. Could’ve already been gone when the shit went down,” Mickey said, carefully. 

Mickey knew exactly which tall motherfucker shot that nasty piece of shit. He finally knew why Carl was in Evanston. 

He needed to get the fuck away from here. Now. Right fucking now.

He said, “Later, man,” and hurried away. 

If he had looked back, he would’ve seen dude nodding his head and grinning.

Mickey didn’t know what the fuck to think. What the fuck happened? Why did Ian shoot that piece of shit? Why didn’t he mention it? No fucking wonder he knocked me the fuck out and let my ass lay there. He’s fucking mad as hell. He imagined Ian stomping that piece of shit and chuckled. 

But why? Ian could be a dangerous, violent motherfucker, but he would never go there without good reason. What happened to make him act like that? Fuck. His fucking head was killing him. He picked up his pace. 

Fucking cops could be looking for Ian, and it’s all my fucking fault. Shit. He would never forgive himself if Ian got in trouble over this shit. 

Dude said they didn’t know who he was. Must’ve not seen Ian’s hair, probably nighttime and it’s dark as hell up in that shithole anyway. Nah, they didn’t see his fucking hair. Dude would’ve mentioned red hair. But, still. Fuck. Damn it.

He stopped in front of a convenience store, pulled his phone out and ordered an Uber. He paced the sidewalk nervously as he waited. 

He had put Ian in fucking danger. Any fucking thing could’ve happened to him up in that fucking shithole. 

What the fuck happened to make Ian shoot that motherfucker? Did he say some crude shit? 

Nah, Ian wouldn’t shoot the motherfucker just for talking. The motherfucker did something. But, what? Carl had his back, so he wasn’t fucking scared. He intentionally shot that fucker, stomped his nasty ass. But why?

The Uber arrived and he settled in the back seat, closing his eyes and resting his head against the seat. His fucking head was killing him, his thoughts were a jumbled mess. He just wanted to get to the room, handle his shit and call Ian. Make sure he was ok. Shit. 

Just as he opened his eyes, he saw the drug center ahead of them. He had a moment of panic. Where is this motherfucker taking me? Where the fuck am I? He looked around, trying to get his bearings. 

Right, the fucking motel is this way. The sight of the drug center had unnerved him. Shit. He needed to calm the fuck down. 

The car stopped at the motel and he stumbled out, “Thanks, man”.

Mickey paid for the room with his ATM card, got his key and found his room. He looked around. Not too bad. I’ll be safe here. 

Ian won’t have to worry now. I’ll call him in a minute. He’s still gonna worry about my sorry ass. He loves me. Shit. Fuck it. Motherfucker. Just shit.

He dropped the key near the TV and abruptly left the room. 

He walked at a fast clip, cursing and mumbling to himself the entire way. People eyed him skeptically, giving him a wide berth as he passed.

He stopped at the building, went inside, and walked up to the desk, “I need to see Tim, man. Don’t got no appointment, but I gotta see him now”.

“What’s your name, sir? Have you been here before?” the receptionist asked, kindly.

Mickey gave his details and took a seat. His body was quaking, his mind was muddled, his head was killing him, but he knew he had made the right choice. Fucking finally. 

More than anything, he wanted Ian to be alright, and for that to happen, he had to be alright himself, because Ian loved his sorry ass. Ian loved him.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey decides to get help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added more tags. Please take a look.

Mickey dropped heavily in the chair, releasing a tired sigh.

“Good to see you, Mickey. What can I do for you, son?” Tim asked, leaning back in his chair, expectantly.

Mickey said, “I wanna go in. I need help, man. I’m so fucking fucked up”. 

Then he stood up and placed all the drugs in his pocket on Tim’s desk, “I’m fucking done, man. Wanna commit my ass, what the fuck ever it’s called”.

Tim smiled, “Well, then let’s get you started”. 

He gave Mickey a packet of forms to sign while he called the facility. 

“I’ll bring him over myself. An hour at most. Fine. Thanks, Henry,” Tim said, rifling through a stack of papers until he found what he was looking for. He knew exactly which doctor he wanted to take Mickey’s case, and she had an opening. 

He disconnected the call and smiled at Mickey, “We’re all set. They’re expecting us. What changed you mind, Mickey”?

“I know I need help, I’m asking for it. Came in on my own. Ain’t that enough for one fucking day”?

Tim chuckled, “Yes, Mickey. That’s enough if that’s all you want to say. I’m recommending a sixty day stay, but it’s up to the doctor, her evaluation. Is that ok with you”?

Mickey wiped the sweat pouring from his forehead, “Whatever, man. I say one week, you say two weeks, who the fuck wins out, huh?” he asked, resignedly.

Tim considered what Mickey said and decided he needed clarification. Mickey shouldn’t feel forced into treatment. He wanted to make sure that he understood his voluntary status, “What do you mean? Do you feel pressured, forced in any way, Mickey”?

“Nah man. I walked my own ass up in here. On my fucking own. What the fuck don’t you understand ‘bout that”?

“Fine, Mickey. Just want to be sure, that’s all”. 

“The fuck ever, man. I’m a grown ass man,” Mickey said, handing him the completed forms.

Tim looked everything over, “Ok, everything looks good. We should go. Ready, Mickey”?

Mickey hesitated, “Um, you’re not gonna call Ian first”?

“Why? You didn’t talk this over with him”?

“Not really. Kinda walked out and shit. Decided to come here later. After I left and shit. He doesn’t know,” Mickey said quietly, avoiding Tim’s eyes.

“Do you want him to know, Mickey”?

“Yeah. Thought that was a fucking given. Him being my fucking partner and shit”.

Tim regarded him closely. He’s certainly an interesting young man. “It’s not my place to call him, Mickey. You are a patient and you have rights. Now if he were to call me, wondering where you are, I can tell him where you are because you signed a consent form, giving him the right to have that information. When you’re admitted, they’ll explain disclosure of treatment information, progress updates, and such, to you. But to answer your question, no I will not call Ian to initiate a conversation about you”.

“What if I want you to call him? Just so he won’t be worried about me and shit. So he’ll know I’m getting help,” Mickey was starting to panic. The fuck kinda shit is this? Ian was gonna be worried. Shit.

“I think it’s good that you want him to know. But I won’t call him for you, Mickey. You say you’re a grown ass man, then behave like one. I’ll wait for you in the lobby. We still have a fair amount of time”.

He gathered Mickey’s forms along with the drugs he had put on the desk, stuffed everything in his briefcase and walked out, closing the door softly.

Mickey scrubbed his hands down his face, cleared his throat and made the call with trembling hands.

“Hey, Mick”.

“Hey. Um. Um. Just wanted to let you know I’m admitting myself or whatever”.

Ian sat up straight, bumping his knee hard on the table. This is not what he expected. The fuck happened?

“You still there?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here, Mickey. Just surprised is all. Where are you? When did you decide?” he asked, rubbing his throbbing knee.

“Tim’s office. We’re going over to the place. Wanted to tell you first. Don’t want you worrying about me, man. Sorry for all the shit I caused. Really fucking sorry, Ian”.

“Where will you go? The place we talked about”?

“Yeah. I don’t know how shit works, visiting and shit. Don’t even know if you wanna visit my ass. I can call you with details if you want. Don’t know if you’ll even wait for me, man”.

“I’ll always wait for you, asshole. You’re my man, Mickey. I love you. I’m proud of you, baby. Gonna need to bring you some clothes and shit. Whatever you need”.

Mickey exhaled a huge sigh of relief. He’s gonna wait for me, “Well, ok then. I’ll let you know the fucking rules soon as I can. Knowing you’ll be waiting is all I need. I love you, Ian. Gonna get better and come home. Home to you, baby. Promise.” 

He was crying when he stopped talking. 

“Ok. I’ll wait for your call then. So proud of you, Mick. So damn proud of you,” Ian said softly.

“Ok then. Gotta go now. Tim’s ass is waiting. Talk soon”.

“Talk soon, Mickey”.

Mickey disconnected the call and sat there sobbing. How did he fuck up so damn bad? They were doing so fucking good and he had to shit all over it. Fuck.

Tim knocked and cracked the door, “We better get going, Mickey. I told them an hour”.

“Right. Be right out. Gimma a minute”.

Tim had already signed the drugs in, so he sat down and waited for Mickey. He understood that the call was hard for both men. It was a step down a long, hard road. Hopefully, they would reach the end together, stronger than they were when they started out.

Mickey had been a patient at Sobriety House for two weeks. He didn’t really have any complaints. 

He hated the fucking rules on principle. He hated the fucking required therapy, individual, and group, alike, but that was more about him than the process itself. 

He hated that he hadn’t seen Ian since coming here, only talked to him that one time to tell him when to bring his shit. 

He was told that the staff would give Ian the fucking information he needed.

The fucking psychiatrist wanted him to do the fucking 90-day program. Said they needed to deal with the trauma that preceded the drug use. He had asked Doc what she knew about his past, thinking maybe Ian had told her or something. The fucking Doc said she didn’t know shit, but she hoped Mickey would open up about it eventually. He figured Doc thought it would take him 90 days to spill his fucking guts. What the fuck ever. 

But, if he was being honest, the more fucking talking he did, the more he believed Doc might be on to something. He was gonna have to talk about the fucking rape, but he sure as hell wasn’t doing it in group therapy. Fuck no. He didn’t give a fuck what they said. Fuck sharing with his fucking peers and shit.

Their first family session was scheduled for this evening. Give Ian time to go home and eat, not have to rush. Mickey wasn’t looking forward to the fucking session, but he was glad he’d get to see Ian. Fucking finally. He missed his goofy ass. Bad. 

He would get to show Ian his room and shit. His kick ass insurance paid for a fucking private room, he was glad about that shit. Most patients had a roommate. Doc said they would have an hour to visit after the session. He couldn't wait. 

She said some weird shit at their session yesterday. “Mickey, have you considered that you turned to drugs because that was something you could control in your life”?

He looked at her as if she was the one with the fucking problem, “Nah Doc, can’t say that I have considered that shit at all. Seeing as I’m here because my fucking drug use got outta control”. 

Is she fucking crazy? Fuck kinda sense does that make?

Doc nodded, “You’re right, of course. But it worked until it didn’t, right? People cope with the pain of trauma in lots of different ways, Mickey. Self-destructive behavior is one way. I’d like you to think about it and we’ll pick it back up tomorrow. Alright”?

Mickey rolled his eyes and stood up, “The fuck ever”.

Doc laughed, “See you tomorrow, Mickey. We’ll meet earlier than we normally do for our regular session, because Ian is coming in for the family session. What time is he coming”?

“7. Wanted him to get dinner, relax a bit. He’ll run himself fucking ragged if I don’t look out for his ass”.

“You love him a lot don’t you, Mickey”?

He smiled bashfully, “Yeah Doc. I do. I love him a whole fucking lot”. 

That was yesterday. Now, Mickey hurried down the hall, it was time for his individual session with Doc. He was a little out of sorts because the session was at a different time. 

They tried to keep to the fucking schedule around here. Keep things calm and shit. Do the same fucking thing every damn day at the same damn time. Regimented and shit. He supposed it had its merits. He took a deep breath and sat down to wait for Doc.

“So, Mickey, do you think your drug use could be the way you chose to cope with a trauma you suffered”?

“Could be. But I sure chose a fucked up way to cope”.

Doc chuckled, “Yes, you certainly did. But here’s what I believe, Mickey. Something bad happened to you, not very long ago, two, maybe three years ago max. You started abusing drugs to cope with the pain caused by whatever happened to you. Granted you started taking the pills because of a back injury. The injury gave you access to highly addictive pain killers. The pills not only helped with the physical pain you were experiencing, they also helped with the psychological pain the trauma caused. You needed that relief, so you started buying off the street after the doctor stopped prescribing for you. You found yourself needing more pills to achieve the relief you needed. Then you started snorting smack to give the pills a boost. Those are things that I believe. Now, here’s what I know. If we don’t get at the underlying trauma that caused the drug abuse, all this is for nothing. Do you understand what I’m saying”?

“Yeah, I got you. I ain’t fucking stupid, Doc”.

She smiled, “Far from it, Mickey. So, then you agree that you’re going to have to talk about what happened to you, what traumatized you? We can arrange for a male therapist if you’d be more comfortable. We just want to help you. Whatever it takes”.

Mickey looked at her. She knows. She fucking knows I was raped. Or she has an idea I was. Why else would she say that shit about a dude taking over my case? Shit.

Being who he is, Mickey asked, “Why do you think I need a fucking dude, Doc”?

“Some men are more comfortable talking to another man”. 

“Well, I’m good with the way things are. Unless you don’t wanna see me anymore. You need a fucking change, Doc”?

“No, Mickey. I don’t need a change. I’d very much like to continue working with you. I believe we’ll do fine together,” she answered, smiling.

“Let’s get to it then,” he said, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms.

“I need you to tell me what happened to you, Mickey”.

“I was fucking raped. But you already knew that, didn’t you, Doc”? 

“I suspected as much," she answered, softly.

She sat back and waited for him to speak. She knew how difficult it was to admit that he was addicted to drugs, then be confronted with the fact that the addiction was caused by a rape he suffered.

He finally spoke, eyes downcast, “My father held me and Ian at gun point while a whore ‘fucked me straight’. He made Ian sit there and watch the whore fuck me. Good news is, the shit didn’t work. I’m still fucking gay.”

She fought to keep her expression neutral, “Of course you are, Mickey. A person cannot be fucked straight. I’m sorry that happened to you. You did not deserve that. Your father wanted you to believe that you deserved what happened, that it was your all your fault, because you’re gay. It was not your fault, Mickey. None of it was. Your father asserted power and control over you and Ian with a gun. He wants you to blame yourself, hate yourself. Those are the actions of a vile, violent, ignorant man”. 

“I didn’t even fight back. I didn’t protect Ian. He pistol whipped us both. I couldn’t protect Ian,” he said softly.

“What could you have done with a gun pointed at you? Should you have fought to the death? Have your father kill you both? Would that have made you more of a man? Should you have died to protect your pride, Mickey”?

Mickey sat there quietly. He hated talking about this shit. He hated it. 

Doc figured this was a good place to stop for now. She said, “Mickey, I want you to think hard about sacrificing yours and Ian’s life to protect your pride, your manhood. How would that have been a better course of action? How would that have produced a better outcome? We’ll pick up with this tomorrow. I’ll see you and Ian tonight at 7”.

Mickey left her office without another word.

He was mentally exhausted after his session. He hated to think about that shit. Hell, that was the whole reason for the fucking drugs, he didn’t have to fucking think. He could get some fucking peace, even if it was only for a little while. 

He took a nap and requested that his lunch be delivered to his room. He stayed there reading and thinking about Doc’s question for the rest of the day. No one bothered him, he figured Doc told them to back the fuck off him for the day. Before he realized it, it was dinner time. 

The kitchen staff delivered his tray to his room without him having to ask. He could get used to this shit, but he knew this was not gonna happen every day, but he was enjoying it for now. 

After dinner, he took a long, relaxing shower, got dressed and sat in his recliner reading while he waited for 7 o’clock to come. While he waited for Ian.

Ian finished his salad and sat at the kitchen table thinking about the upcoming family session. He didn’t know what the fuck to expect. He had no idea how to prepare for it. He assumed Mickey was doing well, but he didn’t know for sure, he didn’t know shit, really. 

When he dropped Mickey’s clothes off, they explained the rules. He wasn’t allowed to contact Mickey for the first two weeks, they wanted him to acclimate to the treatment environment. Ian supposed that made sense, but it was still difficult. 

He called for daily updates, but they didn’t tell him much. Just shit like, “He’s progressing nicely, attending therapy, no concerns”. Finally, someone had called him to schedule the family session. He would get to see Mickey, touch him, talk to him. He would be able to judge for his damn self. 

He really wanted to know how Mickey was faring with the detox medication. It was supposed to make withdrawal less harsh. He didn’t want Mickey to suffer, he had already suffered enough. 

He hoped that Mickey was participating in therapy, he fucking hated talking about his feelings and shit. 90 days was a long fucking time, but it was worth the sacrifice to have him well again. Had Mickey ever been well? Fuck, has he, himself, ever been well? 

Probably not, where they came from if you made it to early adulthood without a fucking felony record and you were still alive, you were a fucking success story. If you were gay to boot, your chances of survival were significantly diminished. 

He was thankful they got the fuck out. At least here, Mickey had a real shot at getting help. If he accepted it. He was in a top of the fucking line facility, dedicated doctors and shit. He was covered under FMLA, so his job was secure. They only recently stopped his workmen’s comp checks, saying his case was under review due to the drug addiction. Under review my ass, he was gonna see to it that Mickey got every penny coming to him. He had already talked to an intern at the university law clinic on Mickey’s behalf. 

He sighed and checked the time. Time to head out, he didn’t want to be late. He would remember to take his pills before he turned in tonight. They just made him so damn tired and he needed his energy. He had to keep things together for Mickey.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian have family therapy sessions.
> 
> They learn things about each other that they did not know.

Mickey stood in the lobby watching Ian make his way to the door. Damn, he was a fine ass fucker. That beautiful face, that strong, muscled body, those long, powerful legs, that fucking fiery, red hair. That was his man. All his. He missed him so much. He needed to touch him, he needed to feel those strong arms wrapped around him, keeping him safe. Keeping him grounded. He needed to hear that sweet voice say, ‘Mick’. 

His eye twitched when he thought about how close he came to losing Ian, all because he thought he needed to get high.

Ian pulled the door open and smiled wide when he saw Mickey waiting for him. They met halfway and fell into each other’s arms and held on tight. Mickey was crying silently when they separated. 

Ian used his thumbs to lift Mickey’s chin, “Don’t cry, baby I got you. It’s alright. I’m here. I love you”. 

He kissed the tears away and took Mickey’s hand, “Which way we going, baby? Can I see your room? We got time”?

Mickey looked up at the clock on the wall, “Nah, better get to Doc’s office. I’ll show you after the session. I’m so fucking glad to see you, man”.

“Fucking glad to see you, too. You look real good, Mick. I miss you so much. You doing ok? Didn’t know if you needed anything. I can run out and get whatever you need. Got you some money, too. Don’t really know how this shit works, you know? They said you don’t need anything”.

Mickey knew that Ian was nervous, he babbled when he was nervous. He pulled him into a corner and kissed him,  
“It’s alright, baby love. I’m fine. Doing real good. Miss you bad, Ian. But I’m ok. I don’t need anything. Everything’s good here. Don’t want you to worry. This was the right thing. Sorry it took me so long. I promise you, I’m good”.

Ian looked at him long and hard, “Yeah”?

“Yeah, baby,” Mickey said softly. How could he ever think that he needed anything other than this man. Ian. Ian was all he needed. All he would ever need. All he needed to get by.

They sat close to each other on the sofa in Doc’s office. 

“So, Ian how are you this evening?” Doc asked.

“I’m good, thanks. Just glad to see that Mickey is doing good”.

“We’re coming along nicely. Do you have questions, any specific issues you want to address?” she asked him.

Ian wasn’t sure if he should bring it up, but she did ask. 

He looked at Mickey, “I was wondering about the medication he’s getting to help with the withdrawal. Didn’t get a chance to ask him”. 

“Mickey, how are you doing with the medication?” Doc asked.

Mickey placed a hand over Ian’s hand, “It was rough the first day or so, but I’m good now, Ian”.

“Why was it rough for that long? They told me that they would monitor you closely, make sure you were comfortable. I was worried that you would be suffering. I didn’t want that for you. They told me you wouldn’t suffer, said that’s what the fucking medication was for”.

“Calm down, baby. It wasn’t that bad. They had to adjust the dosage, took a little time, that’s all. I’m fine, Ian”.

Doc sat back and observed their interaction, that was her main objective for this session. Tim had noted in Mickey’s chart that they appeared to be very much in love, were very protective of each other.

Ian settled down, clasping Mickey’s hands in his.

“Anything else, Ian?” Doc asked, kindly.

“Not that I can think of right now. If I think of something, I’ll bring it up. Is that ok”?

“That’s fine. Mickey, any questions, concerns for Ian”? 

“I just want him to know how sorry I am for putting him through this shit”.

“I know that, Mickey. We take care of each other. Just like always,” Ian said, stroking Mickey’s hand.

“Have you been together long?” Doc asked.

“Yeah,” they answered in unison.

Everyone laughed.

“I was 16, almost 17, he had just turned 15 when we started fucking,” Mickey explained while Ian blushed at his crudeness. 

“You grew up on the south side of Chicago, how did you manage your relationship, being so young?” Doc asked.

“We were real careful, had our spot. Kept it a secret for a long time,” Mickey said.  
Ian nodded his agreement.

Doc wanted to explore further, “Was there a time when people found out”?

Ian said, “My family always knew I was gay. They didn’t have a problem with it, supported me and shit. Only my oldest brother, Lip, knew about Mick and me at first, but eventually my entire family knew. Mickey’s family was different. His father and brothers are homophobic assholes. They gay bash and shit. Mickey had to be secretive, deny who he was and shit. His dad would’ve killed him, he would’ve killed us both”. He didn't know how much Mickey had told her. He didn't want to over-step, fuck shit up.

Doc noted the change in Ian’s demeanor, and the tenseness in Mickey’s body. 

“But you managed to stay together,” she probed, softly.

“Yeah, we fucking left and came here,” Mickey said.

The doctor nodded, she had to tread carefully because Mickey had only just disclosed the rape in their morning session. Staff reported that he had secluded in his room all day. 

“Did something happen to make you leave?” she asked gently.

“Yes,” Ian said. He looked at Mickey who gave an almost imperceptible nod. 

Ian continued, “The fucker caught us and tried to kill us. Threatened us with a fucking gun. We really thought he was gonna fucking kill us”.

Doc nodded, holding Ian’s gaze, “I’m so sorry that happened to you. That’s despicable”. 

“Well, thanks, but Mick got the worst of the shit. That prick made a whore rape him at gun point. He made me sit there and watch the shit,” Ian said, clearly angry.

Mickey sat quietly, gripping Ian’s hands. 

Doc’s heart went out to them. These poor young men. Where in hell do I even start with this shit? It’s a damn miracle they’re both not drug abusers. 

She cleared her throat and began, “How did you feel watching Mickey being raped by his father and the whore, Ian?” she asked. It was important that she used the same terminology they used. 

Tears flowed freely down Ian’s cheeks, “I felt fucking helpless, useless. They were raping Mickey and I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t do shit. I was a useless piece of shit, that’s how I fucking felt. I was always giving him shit about sneaking around, accusing him of being ashamed of who he was. He tried to tell me that his father would kill us if  
he found out. I had no fucking idea someone could be so fucking evil. I had to sit there and watch Mickey get raped knowing that I hadn’t believed him. He fucking tried to tell me. I wanted to kill Terry and that whore. That’s how I felt. I still wanna kill ‘em”.

Mickey looked at Ian, “Baby, you didn’t know. How could you know”?

“I should’ve believed you, Mick. You were trying to keep us safe and I gave you shit. I should’ve fucking believed you. I should’ve fucking listened to you”.

Doc observed them comforting each other. They both feel guilty for not protecting the other. It appears that Mickey didn’t know about Ian’s guilt.

She wanted to be sure, “Mickey, were you aware that Ian felt guilty about being forced to watch you being raped and he couldn’t help you”?

“I knew he felt bad that he couldn’t help me, but there’s no reason he should feel guilty. Wasn’t his fucking fault. He couldn’t do nothing. Terry had a fucking gun on us. What the fuck could he do? Get fucking killed? Get us both killed”?

Very good, Doc thought. This is very good, “You’re saying that Ian shouldn’t feel guilty about not fighting back. But you feel guilty about not fighting back, yourself. Here’s what I think. Feeling guilty is a normal reaction to not being able to help each other when confronted with something so terrible. However, I don’t agree that either of you just let this awful thing happen, that you just failed to defend yourselves and each other. You did what was best at the time. You stayed alive. How is that a wrong choice for either of you? What I’m saying is this, feeling guilty is normal, but thinking that you failed each other, that you’re less manly, that you’re ‘a piece of shit’ because you couldn’t fight back is wrong. The way you both think about your guilt is wrong. You’ve framed it wrong. Do you understand what I’m saying”?

Doc waited patiently while they processed the information. She felt so much empathy for these young men. They had been through hell. She was certain there was more to the story, but she had to be very careful. 

Ian spoke first, “You’re saying that feeling guilty is normal, but thinking that we’re shit because we couldn’t help each other is wrong because he would’ve killed us both”.

Doc smiled, “Exactly. What do you think, Mickey”?

“I see what you’re saying. But Terry said he was teaching me a fucking lesson. Making a fucking man outta me. He said it was my fault that it was happening, said I deserved the shit,” Mickey said.

“Mickey, it wasn’t your fucking fault, it wasn’t our fault just because we’re gay. It was his damn fault, he’s the fucking homophobe. His and that fucking whore’s fault,” Ian said angrily.

Doc said, “Ian is right, Mickey. Homophobes are motivated by fear and hatred. Rape is a violent act, perpetrated by your father. He used a whore and a gun to rape you. He wanted to humiliate you both by forcing Ian to watch. He used a deadly weapon to over-power you. He threatened to kill you, and you believed that he would kill you. Your father caused the rape, he is to blame, Mickey. The blame is all his. You and Ian need to change the way you think about the violence done to you. Take the power away from him. Decide for yourselves how you want to think about it. Decide for yourselves how you want to talk about it, not what your father told you about it”.

She observed them both taking in what she said. When enough time had passed, she continued, “I think that’s enough for today. How often do you want to meet? I was thinking twice a week if your schedule permits, Ian. Mickey and I meet every day. What do you guys think about two family sessions a week”?

Mickey looked at Ian. Hell, he’d do anything to see him twice a week. He missed him so much. But his concern for Ian’s health won out, “Man, I don’t know. That’s a fucking lot, with you working full time and shit. Don’t want you tiring yourself out. I ain’t there to take care of you”.

Ian smiled, silently reminding himself again to take his pills when he got home. He said, “I’m fine, Mick. Getting enough rest, taking my meds, eating healthy, running. I’m sticking to my routine. Gotta stay healthy for you. I wanna do two times a week. Sooner we get it done, the sooner you come home. I can do it, Mick”.

“If it gets to be too much, gotta let us know, man,” Mickey said.

“I will. Promise,” Ian said.

“Are you ill, Ian? You mentioned taking meds,” Doc said.

“He’s bipolar. Takes his meds twice a day. He eats healthy shit, runs every morning, sees his therapist every two weeks. Takes good care of himself. We stay on top of shit”.

Doc just looked at them, they are amazing. She said, “That’s good to hear. I was going to ask how you were taking care of yourself, Ian. Very good. At some point, I might find it beneficial to consult with your therapist. I would like your permission to do so,” she said as she slid the consent form across her desk.

“Even with your signature, I will always talk to you guys beforehand,” she said. 

Ian and Mickey exchanged looks, Mickey gave a slight nod and Ian said, “Sure, no problem,” as he filled the form out.

“When do I get my phone privileges? I miss talking to him. Wanna be able to check in on him, make sure he’s ok and shit,” Mickey asked. 

“I understand, Mickey. I see how important you are to each other. I think one more week will do. I want you to have an opportunity to process the sessions on your own, both, our individual sessions, and the ones with Ian. Ian will be able to process on his own, as well. I think that’s the best course of action for now. If you two agree, we’ll evaluate again next week. What do you think”?

This time Ian gave the slight nod and Mickey said, “Fucking fine. But we talk about it again next week”.

Ian leaned over and kissed him soundly, “Good job, baby”.

Mickey blushed furiously, “Fuck you, man”.

Doc’s smile was as wide as Ian’s, she said, “Well, then. I’ll schedule another session for say, Friday evening at 7? That sound alright”?

They nodded their agreement. Both pleased that they would see each other again the day after tomorrow.

“So, I arranged for Ian to visit with you in your room for an hour. I’ll arrange the same for Friday. I think that covers everything. See you tomorrow morning, Mickey, and I’ll see you Friday evening, Ian. Enjoy your visit, guys”.

They were grinning as they hurried from her office, hand in hand.

The Next Day 

Doc was sure there was more to the story, more than the violent rape. While she was sure the physical and emotional abuse started in Mickey’s childhood, she suspected there was more to the rape. 

When she prodded Mickey the next day, he said, “That’s a fucking ‘nough don’t you think? He found the nastiest, conniving, scheming Russian whore around to rape me.”

“I hear you, Mickey. I just feel like there is more. Something other than the violent rape”, she said gently.

He jumped up demanding, “I wanna go back to my room. Not gonna talk about this shit. Fucking tired of talking about it. I can’t talk about it no more”.

“Sure, Mickey. I’m sorry you’re upset. We’ll let it go for now, but I do want you to attend group therapy this afternoon. I’ll see you there,” Doc said gently, but firmly.

“Fine,” Mickey said as he walked out, careful not to slam the door.

Doc sat there after Mickey left her office, mulling over the session. What in hell else happened to them? Did he inflict further torture on them? She was certain Ian would be more forthcoming. He wanted all this shit out, so he could take his man home. Plus, Ian has benefited from therapy, so he knows that it works. Mickey has doubts about the process, having never participated in it. She understood his reluctance. He needed time and patience. 

2nd Family Session 

Friday evening Mickey stood in the lobby waiting for his first glimpse of Ian. He missed him more than ever after spending time alone with him Wednesday night. They fucked, then Ian had to leave. 

They both held back tears as they walked hand in hand to the front door. He was glad that no one followed them around. The staff practiced some type of shit here that assumes you know the fucking rules, so follow them. We’re not wardens, and you’re not prisoners. What the fuck ever,he was grateful. 

He caught sight of Ian’s flaming hair and his mood improved instantly.

Ian rushed in the door and grabbed him in a bear hug, squeezing tight, “I missed you, Mick. Shit, I missed you so much. You feel so damn good”.

Mickey laughed, holding on to him just as tightly, “Glad to see you, too, tough guy. Come on, we got about 15 minutes. Let’s go sit, got a place for us”.

He led Ian to the deserted library. Everyone was watching a movie or relaxing in their rooms.

Mickey turned the light on, grabbed Ian and kissed him passionately, “Hey, baby".

Ian grinned at him, “Hey, baby”.

They stood there grinning, taking each other in. Rather than taking a seat, they embraced again and just held each other quietly until it was time for their session.

Doc noticed their wide smiles when they walked in holding hands. 

“Good evening, gentlemen. You look happy,” she teased.

As usual, Mickey blushed furiously while Ian’s smile morphed into a grin.

Doc began, “So, last time we validated your feelings of guilt about the rape, and we talked about reframing your thoughts around it. Getting rid of Terry’s narrative and creating your own. Is that about right”?

They nodded their agreement.

“Tonight, I want to go further. I believe something more happened. Not that night, perhaps. But something more happened”.

Doc noted the instant change in Mickey’s affect, the rigidness in his posture.

Ian sat up straighter and gripped Mickey’s hand harder, and began to speak, “Yeah, some more shit happened. That bitch got pregnant and said it was Mickey’s baby. They were gonna make him marry her ass. Had the fucking wedding planned and everything”.

Well, shit, Doc thought. What a fucking mess. How in hell did they get out of it? 

“Did the wedding take place?” she asked as calmly as she could. Her blood was boiling.

“Terry got his ass arrested a few days before the fucking wedding day. I didn’t have to marry her ass,” Mickey said bitterly.

“Was there really a baby?” Doc asked.

“Yeah, she had a fucking baby,” Mickey said, looking at Ian.

Ian said, “We let her stay there with us after Terry’s ass got locked up. Let her keep all the money she earned turning tricks. We left and came here a month or so after the baby came. Paid the taxes on the house, set her up with enough money for a couple months, till she could go back to tricking. We still send her money every month for the baby. But she doesn’t know where we are. We don’t fucking trust her scheming, lowlife ass”.

Doc was stunned. These young men are amazing, wise beyond their years, a strong sense of personal responsibility. They are decent men. She hated Terry with every fiber of her being for trying to destroy something so beautiful, something so rare. 

She had to get a grip here, “How remarkable, you are to be commended. How did she receive your generosity?” she asked.

“Bitch acted like it was our responsibility to help her. Like we fucked up her fucking life. She tried to hide it, but I saw it. She fucking hates us. She might’ve fooled Ian a little, he always wants to see the good in people, help them out and shit, but I saw right through her scheming ass,” Mickey said, bitterly.

“She continued to scheme after you let her stay there”?

Mickey explained how Svetlana tried to search their room while they were at work. He told Doc about the alarm, but not about the pills he forced her to swallow. He had to keep some shit between he and Ian. 

“I see,” Doc said.

Ian had paled visibly and remained quiet as Mickey talked. Doc wondered why. 

“Did you two decide together to help her out, Ian?” she asked.

She noted his agitation as he spoke, “It was my fucking idea mostly. I kinda forced Mickey to go along. Thought it was the right fucking thing to do. If it turned out to be Mick’s kid, I didn’t want him to regret not doing the best he could for it. Figured he already had enough fucking regrets in his life. I know now that the whole thing was a big, fucking mistake. All I did was fuck him up more. I’m the reason he turned to the fucking pills and shit. I did that shit to him”. 

Ian was in tears when he stopped talking.

Mickey was shocked, “The fuck you talking about, man? You got us outta there. You fixed it so I didn’t have to marry that bitch, Ian. It was your idea to come here. We did good here, set down roots and shit, got good fucking jobs. You made a plan to take care of the kid, even if he ain’t mine we got some kinda responsibility, bitch ain’t got nobody else. Everybody I know hates her ass. You made sure we had enough money to come here and not fucking starve while we found jobs. We had an apartment and shit when we hit town. We knew basically what to expect because you made sure we did research and shit about the neighborhoods, the fucking gay community, all that shit. That was you, baby, all you. You fucking took care of us because I fucking couldn’t. I was in a fucking daze, Ian. You know this. We talked about it all the fucking time. I would be married to that fucking bitch or dead, if it wasn’t for you. How the fuck do you not know that shit? Fuck’s wrong with you, Ian? You’re the best thing that ever happened to my ass. You gotta know that shit,” he was near tears himself. 

Doc was smiling through her own tears. She didn’t bother trying to hide them, she firmly believed that a therapist should show positive emotions because they are human beings, too, with feelings. She had never witnessed such a spontaneous out pouring of love in all her years of practice. These are two extraordinary human beings despite all the shit thrown at them. 

Ian was sobbing and shaking his head ‘No’, “Should’ve got us outta there soon as that motherfucker got locked up. I made you stay there in the same house with that bitch. You had to see her ass every day, Mick. Then I made you stay after the baby came, ‘cause I was so fucking stupid. I wanted to make sure the baby was ok. Fuck that, fuck all that shit. I should’ve got us the fuck out. I asked you to trust me and I traumatized you more, Mickey. Making you stay there until I fucking thought it was time to go. I fucked up, Mickey. That’s why you turned to fucking drugs”.

Mickey was overwhelmed, stunned, he didn’t know what to say. He had no idea Ian felt that way, blamed himself. He was wrong. Mickey pulled him onto his lap and shushed him, murmuring his love to him.

Doc was overwhelmed, too. She had to remind herself that she was a damn professional. She waited patiently for Ian to calm down.

Mickey started speaking, unprompted which was new, “I was fucked up by the whole pregnancy thing. I didn’t want to be around her pregnant ass, and I didn’t want to be around her baby. I didn’t ask for any of that shit, none of it. It’s like women get to choose, they don’t wanna keep a baby forced on them by rape, they get a fucking abortion. Nobody bothered to ask me if I wanted a baby with my rapist. So, I must be less of a fucking person, I didn’t get to fucking choose. The shit was forced on me just like the fucking rape was forced on me. I hate Terry, I hate that bitch, and I don’t want her baby. I know it’s wrong, the little dude didn’t ask for it either. But that’s how I fucking feel”.

Ian sat up, but didn’t move from Mickey’s lap, he kissed Mickey softly, “You’re not wrong, Mickey, I was wrong. I should’ve asked you how you felt. She said she wasn’t gonna abort so I thought we had to see it through. We didn’t have to do shit, I should’ve gotten you outta there. I fucked up bad, I’m so sorry, Mickey”.

“Not your fault, Ian. None of this is your fucking fault. I should’ve told you how I felt. You did your best. I love you”.

Doc needed to intervene, “There are a few things we need to unpack here. Mickey, I suspect you feel guilty and ashamed because the rape resulted in the whore getting pregnant. I believe you feel guilty because you had an erection and you ejaculated. You are confused by that. You’re a gay man, how could that possibly happen? Those are normal physiological responses to the fear you felt, Mickey. That does not mean you wanted or enjoyed being raped. It means that you were afraid for your life, afraid for Ian’s life. I believe the shame you feel is around who you think you are because you were raped. You expressed it very well, yourself. You were treated like you didn’t matter, as if you were less of a person. You had no say in how you were treated in any of this. Everything was forced on you. You were raped, then you had to live with your rapist while she was pregnant with a child you didn’t want. You were still being victimized and you felt nobody cared. You felt unworthy of respect”. 

She paused, giving both men time to process the information. They were running beyond their time, but she wasn’t ready to end the session.

She said, “We’re running over, but I’d like to continue for a bit. What do you guys think”?

They looked at each other, and Mickey said, “It’s fine, Doc. We still get our hour, don’t we”?

She laughed loudly, “Yes, Mickey you’ll still get your hour. I’ll let staff know that we ran over”.

She picked back up, “As for you, Ian, I believe you feel guilty because you made the plan, and later, Mickey started abusing drugs. While I believe that his drug problem has much to do with the rape, I don’t believe it originated from the rape itself. None of this is your fault. You did what you thought was right at the time. You found yourself in a horrific situation and you found a way to get you and Mickey out of it. You didn’t have the means to just pick up and leave Chicago. I believe that moving here penniless would have been a mistake. You came with a plan and it worked out well, as far as the plan goes. However, Mickey was going to run into trouble no matter where he was, because he never dealt with the rape or the underlying trauma that I suspect started when he was a child. We now know exactly how he felt being around the whore and her pregnancy every day. How devastating it was for him. We know that, Ian, because he told us. I believe you would have planned differently had you known the true impact staying there was having on him. Also, you must take into account that you’re both very young, your only support system seems to be each other, and from the sound of it, this is the first time you’ve had financial security. Frankly, I don’t see much you could have done differently, Ian. You did your best, with what you had to work with, which wasn’t very much. I think you both should place the blame squarely where it belongs, on the two people responsible. The whore could’ve made a different choice regarding her pregnancy. By choosing to keep the child she continued the abuse, on purpose. She used her pregnancy to try to control Mickey, to tie him to her. I will end with this, Mickey you are not a bad person because you don’t want to be a parent to the child of the woman that helped your father rape you and continued to manipulate you. It is unfortunate for the innocent child, but you have every right to your feelings. You both need to accept that a vile act of violence was perpetrated on you by two conniving people. They caused the situation you found yourselves in. They raped you, Mickey, and conspired to trap you in a marriage for their own purposes, a marriage they knew you did not want. Ian, you did everything you could to make the situation right. Your goal was to protect Mickey and get him out. You did that. I want you both to think about the things I’ve said, and we’ll pick up here next time. Now, I think Mickey can have phone privileges, starting tomorrow. I think it’s two phone calls a day. We’ll look at visiting privileges at our next session. Any questions”?

Mickey was grinning, “Nah, Doc. We’re good, all good,” he patted Ian’s knee, indicating he should get up, “Come on, baby. We only got an hour”.

Ian jumped up, smiling happily. They rushed out, leaving a smiling Doc sitting at her desk, deep in thought.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Chicago, Terry doesn't get the answers he's looking for. 
> 
> Please pay attention to the note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Physical and sexual violence.

Carl sat on a stool in the Alibi listening to Terry spout loud, obnoxious bullshit. He was trying to intimidate Kev into telling him where Mickey and Ian were. 

“Motherfucker, I know you know where the fuck those aids monkeys went and you better tell me b‘fore I kick your fucking ass,” Terry snarled.

“And I already told you, I don’t know where the fuck Mickey and Ian went. I give less than a damn where they went. You fuck with me, I’m gonna put a bullet in your psychotic ass,” Kev said. He was sick of Terry’s bullshit.

“I know for a fact you know. Heard they send money for that little grimy bastard to you. You gotta know where it comes from. Even you ain’t that fucking dumb. Now fucking tell me b’fore I come back there and kick your ass in your own shitty ass bar,” Terry hollered, getting madder, and wondering why no one was laughing at his digs. 

These drunk motherfuckers used to fall all over themselves kissing his ass. Now, they acted like he didn’t fucking exist. He’d correct that shit after he took care of those two faggots. First things fucking first. 

A hush had come over the bar, everyone was waiting for whatever came next. Carl paid his tab, gave Kev a slight nod and left the bar.

Kev grabbed his shotgun and racked it, “You come back here, I’ll blow your ass to kingdom come”.

“Your chickenshit ass ain’t gonna shoot me. Put that shit down b’fore I take it from you,” Terry laughed, without humor. Fuck’s wrong with this big ass motherfucker? Everybody knew he kept that shit loaded.

Kev stood there silently with the shotgun trained on Terry. He had never wanted to kill anyone in his entire life. He was an easy-going man, tried to get along with everyone. Hell, his livelihood depended on dealing with drunks, but Terry was different, he was fucking evil. He found himself wanting to kill Terry Milkovich in that moment and it scared him, but he refused to back down. He was in his fucking place of business, defending what was his. 

Kev’s steely silence unnerved Terry. He hadn’t survived multiple prison bids without learning how to read people, without going with his fucking gut. Something about the look in Kev’s eyes made Terry back the fuck up. 

This giant motherfucker wants to shoot my ass. The fuck? He knew that everyone was waiting for him to make his move. He knew that most of them probably hoped Kev would kill his ass. They all hated him, and with good fucking reason. They all used to fear him. The fuck happened? They’d all probably be witnesses for that big dumb ass motherfucker, if he even needed witnesses, this is his fucking place of business.

But Terry still had a reputation to maintain, “Put that shit down motherfucker, I don’t wanna kill your ass tonight. I just got outta the fucking joint. Ain’t ready to go back yet. Bring me another drink and calm the fuck down b’fore I get mad for real”. 

Kev was relieved and disappointed. Fuck, he really wanted to kill the asshole. 

“You’re not welcome here, Terry. Leave the money you owe on the table and get the fuck outta here, and don’t come back. Get the fuck out. Now,” Kev said in a deadly, calm voice.

“Man, I’m good. Told you to calm the fuck down. Gimme another drink and shut the fuck up,” Terry demanded, trying to figure out what to do. Shit had sure changed around here since he’d been gone. 

Kev walked from behind the bar and stopped a few feet from Terry’s table, shotgun still trained on him, “Get the fuck outta my place of business. Not gonna tell you again, Terry”.

Terry sat there looking at Kev. This motherfucker grew some fucking balls while I was locked up. Gonna kick that Russian whore’s ass when I get home. It’s her fucking fault this shit is happening. Listening to her fucking dumb ass. 

He jumped up, making sure to kick the table and chair over, he snarled “Fuck your pussy ass. This shit ain’t over. You know where those fucking faggots went and you’re gonna tell me. Fuck you protecting them for? You turned ass digger since I been gone? What Vee say ‘bout that shit? I’ll be back, you faggot motherfucker”. 

He threw some crumpled bills at Kev’s feet and stormed out. 

Kev smiled inwardly, he pulled his phone out and quickly shot off a short text, “K”.

Carl stood in the alley a few doors down from the Alibi waiting for Terry to walk past. He had been following Terry off and on since his release. He even changed his shift to days so he could follow him at night, figuring the lazy asshole would lay up on his ass and sleep all day. 

He wanted to find out what Terry and that whore knew, and what they were planning. So far, they didn’t know shit.   
They were still trying to find out where Ian and Mickey went. He and Kev had a plan to help that shit along. For now, he just wanted to kick Terry’s ass. 

Every time he thought about the horror story his brother told him the night they found Mickey’s doped up ass, his blood boiled. He wanted to hurt Terry Milkovich bad. Raping Mickey and forcing Ian to watch the shit wasn’t enough for those two evil motherfuckers. They wanted to terrorize them, and knowing Terry’s maniac ass, he would kill them. 

When Carl was growing up, all he ever heard was how bad the fucking Milkovichs’ were. Everybody fucking feared them. Mickey wasn’t like that. He watched Mickey take care of Ian with tenderness. He saw the way Mickey looked at his brother. He saw how happy Mickey made Ian. Carl knew early on that Fiona and Lip were wrong about Mickey. Those two loved each other and they were going to be together, no matter what. He was young then and nobody fucking listened to him. 

Well, he wasn’t so fucking young any more. Ian had called him when they ran into trouble, not Lip, him. Ian trusted him with that fucking terrible secret and he wasn’t going to let them down. No fucking way. If he fucking killed Terry Milkovich tonight, he knew exactly who to call for help getting rid of his fucking body. You don’t grow up on the south side and not know who to call for different shit you found yourself in. 

His phone beeped and he pulled the ski mask over his face and readied himself to seriously hurt Terry Milkovich. He heard footsteps coming his way, then he heard Terry cursing as he stumbled along. 

Terry was preoccupied with kicking Svetlana’s ass, blaming her for his humiliation in a bar full of fucking drunk assholes. He didn’t notice the shadowy figure standing in front of the alley until it was too late. 

When he got close enough, Carl stepped out and pulled a surprised Terry into the alley. “The fuck?” Terry demanded, trying to figure out what was happening. Was some motherfucker stupid enough to try to rob him? Rob Terry Milkovich?

Carl didn’t say a word as he punched Terry in the nose, disorienting him. Terry grunted and grabbed his nose as tears clouded his vision, “Fuck’s wrong with you motherfucker?” he demanded.

Carl punched him squarely in the jaw just under his chin and watched him drop in an unconscious heap. Carl stood looking down at him, waiting for him to wake up.

Terry stirred and struggled to his feet. What the fuck? Who the fuck is this motherfucker? Motherfucker broke his fucking nose. Gonna kill his ass, whoever the fuck he is.

“You don’t know who you’re fucking with,” Terry snarled, lunging forward.

Carl still hadn’t uttered a sound. He delivered an upper cut to the spot just below Terry’s sternum, knocking the wind out of him. He crumbled to the ground again, but he managed to stay conscious this time. 

He looked up at Carl, trying to figure out who he was. The punk had his face covered. He fought the dizziness, trying to get his bearings. He struggled to his knees, presenting his ass to his attacker. Carl smiled as he delivered a vicious kick to that ass. Terry found himself face down in the filthy, garbage strewn alley. 

Carl pinned him down with his boot, finally speaking, “Ain’t much to you, huh, motherfucker? Was expecting something more, with your reputation and all. You’re just a bitch ass bully”.

Terry mustered as much snark as he could, given the situation he was in, “Fucking let me up, motherfucker, I’ll give your ass something more, bitch. Your pussy ass ambushed me. Let me the fuck up”.

“Shut the fuck up, you broke down piece of shit. You’re just where you need to be, face down in a fucking alley. I’m trying to decide if I should leave your ass breathing or not. I wanna let you know something, bitch, so listen up. Those two you were asking about, you’d be wise to leave them the fuck alone. But nobody ever accused your big, dumb ass of being wise, everybody knows you’re a dumb, psychotic brute. Fuck with them, it’ll end badly for you and your whore. Got that, bitch”? Carl’s voice was low and deadly. 

Terry’s head was clearing as he fought through the throbbing pain in his fucking face and his back, but he was used to pain. If he could just get up, he’d fuck this motherfucker up. “The fuck you got to do with it? You a fucking ass digger too, motherfucker?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound harsh. 

“Interested party, motherfucker. Real interested party,” Carl said.

“Those fucking faggots send you? The fucking bitches. Gonna kill ‘em, gonna find ‘em and kill their faggot asses”.

Carl laughed hollowly, “See, knew you were a dumbass bitch. Don’t know when to shut the fuck up”. He hauled Terry up and shoved him, already anticipating his move. 

When Terry lunged, he was met with a vicious punch to the throat. His eyes bulged as he grabbed his throat with both hands. Carl kicked him behind his left knee and let him drop like that sack of shit he was.

But Carl wasn’t done yet. He pulled gloves from his back pocket, taking immense pleasure in Terry’s terrified look. He knew exactly what the asshole was thinking. 

Terry swallowed noisily. This crazy motherfucker is gonna kill my ass in this damn alley. Mickey sent him to kill me. The faggot didn’t have the fucking balls to do it himself. Fucking bitch ass faggot. He tried scooting away on his ass, eyes never leaving his masked attacker. 

Carl used his boot to gather as much garbage as he could into a pile, never taking his eyes off the fool on the ground. 

He leaned down, scooped it up in his gloved hands, and walked over to Terry. He pinned him down with his boot and dropped the garbage in Terry’s face. Without thinking, Terry inhaled as he tried to knock the garbage away. He coughed and sputtered, steadily inhaling the stench and the garbage. He gagged and vomited while Carl held him down, laughing humorlessly.

“Let’s see what you got there, Terry. I see some shitty pampers, a fucking rotten apple with shit crawling on it, a slimy banana peel, some shit looks like rice and gravy, fuck if I know. Oh yeah, I see something that looks like shit, sure smells like shit. You got some on your fucking face. See some vomit, some drunk fuck must’ve left the Alibi and vomited his insides up. Oh, look your ass is vomiting, too. Well, I gotta go, you fucking stink. Enjoy your fucking smorgasbord, bitch, and remember what I said. Final warning”. 

Carl walked away smiling, planning the next phase of their plan.

Svetlana was sitting on the filthy sofa drinking vodka straight from the bottle, vaguely wondering what she’d have to put up with tonight when Terry kicked the front door open and stumbled in. 

She thought he was just drunk, like he was every other night. Then she saw his bloody face and noticed the way he was moving. She jumped up in alarm and ran to him, “What happen? Fight? You hurt”?

That’s when it started. She thought he was gonna kill her and she didn’t even know why. She knew it was useless to fight back, that would only make him madder, so she just took kicks and punches. 

Mickey’s battered and bruised face flashed in her mind, making her think of the times she watched with derision as Terry beat him senseless. Now her ass was getting the fucking beat down. 

She should’ve never gone to that fucking prison. She should’ve left this shithole the minute Terry’s ass got out. She should’ve left fucking Chicago before he got out of prison.

After he almost beat her to death, he fucking raped her. First her pussy, then her ass. He savagely shoved his dick up her ass and pounded her relentlessly, holding her in place by her hair. She felt like she was being split in fucking two. When he finally came, squealing like a fucking pig, he used her hair to wipe the cum off his dick, nearly snapping her neck as he yanked on her hair. 

When he was done, he hurled her against the wall so hard she bounced off and landed in the middle of the room. She lay there in a broken, crumpled heap, crying quietly, willing herself to get up. She had to get up. She had to get away from him. She had to get away before he killed her. She didn’t want to die. She still didn’t even know why he had beat her. 

She finally managed get to her knees and was crawling away when Terry snarled, “Get your whore ass over here and suck my dick, bitch. You better get it hard, too. Get your skank ass on over here and suck it”. 

Another violent day entered her mind. Mickey and Ian bloody and beaten. Helpless and defeated. She remembers Terry screaming at Mickey, “Fuck her, I mean fuck her hard, you faggot bitch”. She also remembers grinning at Terry that day. 

Her body screamed with pain as she slowly crawled over to Terry and sucked his dick. He smashed her head into his groin and held it there while he fucked her face as hard as he could, grunting like a fucking pig. She gagged, she couldn’t breathe, she thought she was gonna die for the second time that night. 

He cursed her all the while. She barely managed to avoid the kick meant for her face when he was finished with her. He snarled, “Get the fuck outta my face b’fore I kill your ugly whore ass. You make me fucking sick. Tomorrow you’re taking your dumb ass to that faggot Kevin and getting that fucking address. You better not come the fuck back here without it and I better not have to come find your skank ass”. 

He finally passed out and she slowly crawled to the bathroom and pulled herself up using the toilet to steady herself.

She stood gripping the sink, to hold herself up, and studied her battered reflection, wondering how she was going to get that fucking address. Terry must’ve gotten his crazy ass kicked trying to get it himself. The fuck makes him think she can get it when he couldn’t? 

She hated everything Milkovich and Gallagher. She would make them all pay. Terry, Ian, and Mickey. She would make them all pay.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian talks about the night he and Carl found Mickey, and he struggles to stay strong for Mickey.

“Your company doctor prescribed the fucking pills he got hooked on. It all happened because some dumbass at his job spilled coffee on the floor and just walked away. You need to have fucking work place safety in-services instead of trying to steal money from your employees because you think they don’t know any better,” Ian said to the workmen’s comp representative assigned to Mickey’s case. 

He listened for a minute before huffing, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll have his lawyer contact you. I want you to tell her that you’re not gonna pay Mickey the money you owe him. Have a nice fucking day”. 

He disconnected the call and checked the time. He had just enough time left on his lunch break to dash over to the law clinic. He hoped there wasn’t a fucking line. He wanted to take care of this shit now. They had a family session tonight, and Mickey would want an update. He knew that Mickey still felt guilty about the money he withdrew from their account when he was using drugs. 

He skidded to a stop and pulled the door to the law clinic open. Good, no line. He signed in quickly and stood tapping his foot impatiently. He didn’t want to get back late and have to talk to his boss. The fucker was getting bolder with his advances, Ian tried to ignore him, but it was getting harder. Fucking guy wouldn’t take a hint. 

If Mick was home, he’d have him stop by the office, and that would be the end of that shit. But Mickey wasn’t home, so he had to handle it on his own. He had to take care of everything, he didn’t want Mickey to worry about shit. Just his fucking recovery, so he could come home.

As he waited for his name to be called, he thought about his phone call with Carl last night. 

“So, how’s everything with Mickey? He still a the place?” Carl asked.

“Yeah, man. He’s doing real good, though. Therapy sessions going well, real well. I like his Doc, she’s cool. Everything is good”. 

“You ok there by yourself? I can get some time off, stay a while if you need me to”?

“Thanks, brother. I’m good. He got his visiting privileges. I get to see him twice a week for two hours and we have two family sessions a week, I stay for an hour after. I get to see him most every day. Pretty soon, I’ll get to see him every Sunday, too. I’ll be able to stay for six hours on Sundays,” Ian said happily.

Carl laughed, “Fuck, you should just move your ass up in that bitch. You said he’s got a private room and shit. Perfect set up, man”.

“Wish I could. I really miss him, man. But we’re almost done. He’s got about a month left, then I’m bringing my man home”.

“I hear you, man. No trouble from anything, huh?” Carl asked.

Ian knew he was talking about the dope den they found Mickey in.

“Nah, man. Nothing. Didn’t really expect none. Fuck ‘em,” Ian said dismissively.

Carl laughed, “Fuck ‘em. You let me know if shit changes. I know Mickey appreciates you, man. You’re a fucking keeper”.

“Fuck you, Carl. Give my love to everybody. Talk soon”.

“Talk soon, brother,” Carl said.

He was grateful to have Carl for a brother. Unlike Lip, he wasn’t prissy and judgmental. If you asked for his help, he helped and kept his fucking commentary to himself. 

He remembered how upset Carl had been the night they found Mickey. While they waited for the doctor to stabilize him, he told Carl the real reason they left Chicago. He thought Carl deserved to know, he had blindly followed Ian into five dope dens looking for Mickey’s ass. He had watched Ian viciously stomp a guy’s face in, then shoot him in both knees. He deserved an explanation. 

Carl listened quietly while Ian talked. Then he got up, “Man, gimme the fucking key. I’m going back to the apartment, I can’t fucking sit here. Those fucking motherfuckers” 

Ian tossed his keyring to him. Carl removed the door key and tossed the keyring back to him and headed for the exit.

Ian hurried after him, “How you getting there, Carl? Your truck is at our place. Take my truck, we’ll get an Uber when they release him”.

“Nah. I can’t fucking sit still right now. Gonna walk. Later”. And he was gone.

Ian snapped out of his thoughts when his name was called. He told the law student about the call with the workmen’s comp rep. She promised to contact the rep and get back to Ian by the next day. He thanked her and rushed back to work.

He made it to his office with 5 minutes to spare. He sat in his cubicle panting. He was tired, but he had a positive update for Mickey. He would be able to let him know that he was on top of the workmen’s comp bullshit. That was worth missing lunch for. He had energy bars in his desk for emergencies. 

Fuck. He forgot his fucking pills this morning. He woke up late and had to rush out. Did he take them last night? Shit. 

He would be sure to take them tonight when he got home from the family session. He would slow down over the weekend, get back on track and shit. He had to stay on top of this shit. Mickey was depending on him. 

He went to the small kitchen for a bottle of water and ran into his boss. Fuck this motherfucker. 

“Hey, Ian. How’re you doing? Haven’t talked to you in a while. Come on to my office with me, we can catch up,” he started walking away, sure Ian was following.

“Sorry, Jay, just got back from lunch. Maya’s gotta go now. We’re short today, Anderson’s out, he has an exam,” Ian said.

“Maya can wait for a bit. Come on in. I want to talk to you,” he said.

Fuck, this motherfucker’s gonna make me go to HR on his gross ass. He wanted to fucking scream. Just as he was about to follow the prick, Maya said loudly, “I’m leaving now, Gallagher. You better get up here”.

He stifled his grin, “Sorry, Jay. Another time,” and hurried away.

Maya was waiting for him, “I saw that slimy motherfucker corner you. You need to take your ass to HR and handle that shit, Ian. He’s lost his fucking mind. Only gonna get worse, I’m telling you”. 

“You’re right. Got so much on my plate right now, guess I just hope it’ll go away. Hate to put anybody’s job at risk, you know”?

“Fuck that. He’s creating a hostile work environment for you. Look at you, flustered and shit. This university don’t play that shit. George even said something about it the other day. Better for you to go to HR before someone else goes. Shit, they could transfer your ass out, to keep the peace and shit. If you go first, they can’t transfer you unless you request it. We’ll go tomorrow after work. Not busy are you”? 

“I can be a little late tomorrow, I guess. Shit. I don’t have time for this shit. Fuck. Thanks Maya. Tomorrow after work. Now go on to lunch”.

Now he was gonna have to give Mickey a fucking reason for being late tomorrow. Why couldn’t people stay the fuck out of their damn lives? Just leave them the fuck alone. 

Shit, he was fucking starving. He’d pick up a pizza on the way home. He tried to ignore the stress he was feeling and the tiredness seeping into his bones. He would use the weekend to recuperate. Visit Mickey. Take his meds on schedule. Run. Rest. He would be fine.

Later that evening, they were alone in Doc’s office, she had to step out for a minute. Mickey was unusually quiet. Ian figured he had a rough session earlier today. 

“Rough session this morning?” he asked him.

“Nah. Somethings been worrying me, Ian. What happened the night you found me? You never said”.

The color drained from Ian’s already pale face. Fuck. Why is he asking me that now? I can’t tell him. It’ll set him back. He’s doing so well. I can’t tell him. No. Hell Fucking No.

“Mickey, you know what happened. We found you and took you to the ER. That’s what happened”.

Mickey rolled his eyes, “You’re lying, Ian. I know you shot that fucking creep, man. Why? Why’d you shoot his ass? I need to know. Why, Ian”?

Ian was frantic, he jumped up, “I need a drink, didn’t have time to eat dinner. You want a Pepsi? Yeah, I’ll get you a Pepsi. Be right back,” he said as he hurried out, nearly knocking Doc down. 

He righted her and apologized, “Shit, Doc. Sorry. Just getting a drink for me and Mick. You want one”? 

“No thanks, Ian. I’m fine. Are you alright?” she asked, but he was gone, nearly running down the hall.

He stopped and leaned his head against the cold pop machine. The fuck was he going to do? How did Mickey know he shot that motherfucker? 

How fucking long has he known? Could this day get any worse? 

Shit. Shit. He was so damn tired of it all. The harder he tried, the more fucked up things got. He was so fucking tired. 

Doc walked into her office and looked at Mickey, “Ian was certainly in a hurry. He must be really thirsty,” she said, noting Mickey’s somber expression. 

“He’s running from me, Doc”.

“Why would Ian be running from you”?

“I’ll see if I can get him to answer me, then we’ll both fucking know,” Mickey said, clearly irritated.

She was about to ask him what he was talking about, when Ian knocked briefly and rushed in.

“Sorry to hold everything up, Doc. Just needed a drink,” he said holding the drinks up. He handed Mick one and sat down with the other one.

Doc noted the tension between the two men, “Ok guys, what’s going on here”?

“Ian won’t answer my question. Maybe you’ll have better luck since you’re the fucking professional. You know how to make people spill shit”.

Doc looked at Ian, “Ian, what is he talking about”?

Ian was as pale as a ghost as he fidgeted with his pop can with shaking hands. He swallowed noisily and avoided looking at Mickey, “Something happened the night we found him in that fucking dope den. He wants to know about it, but I don’t wanna say”.

“I’m not a fucking kid, Ian. I can handle it. Don’t treat me like I’m a weak ass pussy, like I can’t handle shit, man”.

“Ian, why don’t you want him to know?” Doc asked. What, now? They can’t win for losing.

“Scared it’ll set him back. He’s doing so good. He’s coming home soon, I want him home with me. He tries so fucking hard and shit just pops up and knocks him back on his ass. I just want him to be ok. How’s that a bad thing, huh? I just love him, wanna keep him safe,” Ian said, voice breaking.

Mickey pulled Ian onto his lap and placed kisses all over his face, “Stop crying, baby. It’s ok. I got you. I’m gonna come home just like we planned. Nothing’s gonna stop that. I promise. I’m stronger now, getting stronger every day, Ian. I can handle it. I just need to know what happened. Been having dreams, flashbacks, some shit. I just need to know, baby”.

Ian was full on sobbing now. Doc sat quietly while Mickey kissed his tears away and made soothing sounds.

He finally sat up and moved to the seat next to Mickey. He shook his head sadly and looked at Doc, “If you learn of a crime you have to report it, right”?

Mickey jumped right in, “Hell No!! She don’t gotta report shit. This is privileged shit. Patients privacy act or some shit. She can’t tell nobody shit. Can you, Doc”?

“Depends on what it is, Mickey. If a patient poses a threat to himself or some other identifiable person, I have a duty to warn the threatened party or the police. If a patient tells me he did something, I’m not obligated to tell anyone, that goes to patient confidentiality, and it cannot be breached. You’re both my patients. Does that help, Ian”?

He nodded and sat up straight. Mickey pulled both Ian’s hands into his lap and held them tightly.

“I called my brother Carl to come help me find Mickey. I had found the area I thought he might be in, but there were too many buildings for me to search on my own. I needed help and I knew that I could depend on Carl not tell the rest of my family. We searched four places before we found the right one. It was dark outside when we finally found it. It was even darker up in there. We couldn’t see shit, we walked over people sprawled on the fucking floor, in corners, they were all over the damn place. Passed out or fucking dead, we didn’t know. We just stepped over bodies and kept going deeper into that shit. I heard a man’s voice, so I followed the sound. The motherfucker was talking about fucking somebody. How he was gonna get that ass. I didn’t hear anybody else talking, just him. When I heard the guy say ‘pretty boy’ I knew he was talking about Mickey. I fucking knew it. By the time we found the room they were in, this motherfucker had his own pants down, his dick out, and he was trying to get Mickey’s jeans down. Mickey was passed the fuck out. He was fucking out cold. Didn’t even know what was happening to him, couldn’t defend his own doped up ass. I was so fucking mad, I think I lost my fucking mind. I pulled that nasty motherfucker off Mickey and threw him against the wall on the other side of the fucking room so hard his ass bounced off. Then I stomped his ass, I stomped his ugly, fucking face, don’t know how many times. I heard Carl yelling at me to stop, not to kill him. When I hauled the motherfucker off, Carl grabbed Mickey and checked that he was breathing and shit, fixed his fucking clothes and threw him over his shoulder while I stomped the guy. I knew Carl had Mickey, so I was free to kill that fucking scum rapist. When I came back to myself, I stopped stomping his ass, told Carl I wasn’t gonna kill him. Told him to take Mickey outta that fucking filthy hole, and put him in the truck, told him I was coming. Carl wouldn’t leave, he thought I was gonna kill the motherfucker. I had a gun, ‘cause you don’t go up in that shit without one, I took it out and put a bullet in both his fucking knees. I want him to remember the ass he tried to rape for the rest of his miserable, fucking life. I took Mickey from Carl and we got the fuck outta there. I got in the back with Mickey and examined his body and shit. If we had been a fucking minute later, that motherfucker would’ve raped him. A fucking minute later. He had his fucking dick out, stroking it, slobbering over Mickey and shit. He was gonna rape him. Saying he had been wanting that ass, said he told Mickey he was gonna fuck him, went on about how he knew if he just waited around, he’d get his chance at that ass, saying all kinda rank shit. I wanted to kill him, I really wanted to kill him. After Terry and that whore, I promised Mickey that I would never let anyone hurt him like that again. I fucking meant it. I was almost too late, but I made it in time, almost too late, but I made it. That’s what fucking happened, Mickey”. 

He got up and walked out without another word.

Mickey was stunned by what he heard. It didn’t register that Ian had gotten up until he heard the door close behind him. He jumped up and went after him, but Ian must’ve run straight out the fucking front door.

Mickey ran to the front door, hoping he could catch him, he ran to the parking lot, their truck wasn’t there. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Shouldn’t have pushed him. Shit. Made him recount that shit. Fuck, Ian. You saved my doped up ass. Oh, my sweet man. I’m so fucking sorry. You try to keep me safe and I keep fucking you up. 

He ran back to Doc’s office. She was frantically pacing the floor and wringing her hands. “Were you able to catch him, Mickey? Is he ok”? This a damn nightmare. She had not been prepared for this.

“No, I didn’t see him. He was gone before I made it to the parking lot. I need to call him, Doc. Gotta make sure he’s alright. None of this shit here means anything to me without Ian”.

“Of course, Mickey. I understand,” she said as she pointed to her desk phone. 

He dialed Ian’s phone and it went to voice mail, “Baby, it’s me. I’m worried about you. Call me when you get this. I’m sorry I got you so upset. I love you, Ian. Call me or I’m leaving here and coming to find you, man. Can’t have your ass running around all distraught and shit,” the call disconnected before he finished his message. Shit.

“Should we call someone, Mickey?” Doc asked.

“We don’t have family here. Everybody is in Chicago”.

“What are we going to do? This could trigger him, Mickey. I’m very concerned,” Doc said, wringing her hands.

“I know. It’s all fucked up, Doc. Shouldn’t have pushed him like that. I know better. He was trying to protect me, didn’t want me to know what happened to me. Every fucking thing he does is for my no-good ass, and I fuck him up every damn time”.

“Mickey, stop it. We’ll deal with all that later. Blaming yourself is not going to help us find him. Now, where could he be?” Doc asked.

“I don’t fucking know. Maybe he’s going home and isn’t picking up. Fuck, I don’t know”.

“Could he be home already?” she asked.

“I don’t know where else he would go. Tell you what, though, I’m not gonna sit here wondering. I’m gonna find him. I’m all he has. We’re all we got. He went through hell to find me that night, and I’m gonna find him. Don’t know what that means for the program, but right now, I don’t give a fuck. I’m out”.

He had the door open when Doc said, “Mickey, wait. I’ll get my car, help you look. Just let me make a call”. 

She picked up the phone and hurriedly explained that she was taking Mickey out for the evening and hung up.

“Gonna need my phone, Doc”.

“Yes, of course. We’ll pick it up on our way out. Do you need anything from your room, Mickey? ID? Keys?” she asked.

“I’ll meet you at the front door,” He said over his shoulder running to his room. He retrieved his keys and wallet, then ran to the front door. He heard Doc hurriedly making her way up front. She tossed his phone to him and they were on their way.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian is overwhelmed.
> 
> Mickey goes home.

Mickey spotted their truck in the parking lot of their building, it was in their assigned space. 

“He’s here. There’s the truck”. He jumped out before the car stopped, he had run inside and was unlocking the inner door when he remembered Doc was with him. 

He held the door open for her and they hurried over to the waiting elevator. He was squeezing out before the door opened fully on their floor, Doc was close behind. 

He opened their apartment door with his key and flicked the hall light on, Doc closed the door and waited while he ran to the bedroom calling Ian’s name. 

He stopped in his tracks in the doorway. Ian was in bed, curled into a ball, with his head covered. He calmed himself and walked in quietly, “Ian? Baby it’s me. You awake”?

He sat on the bed, careful not to jostle him, “Baby, can you look at me, please? Ian, I need you to look at me. Tired, huh? You been running your ass off taking care of me. You always take good care of me and neglect yourself. I don’t wanna upset you, but I need to know, did you take your pills when you got home, Ian? It’s ok if you didn’t. I’ll get some water so you can take ‘em now. Ok? I’ll be right back, baby”.

Mickey quietly left the room, closing the door softly. He found Doc sitting on the sofa.

Ian wondered why Mickey was home, but he was too tired to give it much thought. He just wanted to sleep. He had fucked up enough shit for today. 

When he got home, he was too tired to take his clothes off, he just got in bed, he still had his fucking shoes on. 

No, he didn’t take his fucking pills and he wasn’t gonna take them now. He wanted Mickey to go away, leave him the fuck alone so he could sleep. He just wanted to sleep.

He didn’t want to think about how bad he had fucked everything up. Mickey had depended on him to take care of shit and he goes and fucks everything up worse. He always fucks shit up for Mickey, always makes everything worse.

“He’s having an episode, Doc. Curled up in a ball, head covered up, I think he’s still got his clothes on. Gonna try to get him to take his pills, he probably won’t, but I gotta try. I’ll get him in to see his doc tomorrow, unless you can help him?” Mickey asked, hopefully.

“I would need his permission, Mickey”.

“I can make decisions for him when he’s like this and he can make decisions for me. We both signed that power of attorney shit as soon as we got settled here. We only got each other, Doc. I’ll get the paper, gimme a sec,” Mickey said, as he hurried back to the bedroom.

He entered the bedroom as quietly as before, “Baby, Doc brought me home. We were worried about you. I want her to see you, see if you need your dosage changed. That way you won’t have to leave home till you feel better. I told her that we signed those papers. You were so smart to think of that. What do you think? Can she talk to you? See what’s up and shit? Then I’ll let you sleep, I know how tired you are. You’ve been so strong, taking care of me, keeping everything going”.

Ian didn’t move, he didn’t speak.

Mickey took the documents from the small safe they kept in the closet. He left the bedroom, closing the door softly. 

He found Doc talking on her phone, “Yes, Bill. I understand. I’ve been seeing him and Mickey on a regular basis, so I know his baseline. Yes, my thoughts exactly. Yes, I’ll keep you posted. Good night, Bill”.

She turned to Mickey, “That was Ian’s doctor. I explained everything and we agree that a small increase in dosage is appropriate seeing that we caught it early. Will he see me?” she asked as she glanced over the document he gave her.

“I told him that I wanted you to see him. He didn’t say no. That’s the best we’re gonna get. I don’t know for sure, but I bet he’s been skipping pills. Rushing from work to come see me, worrying about my ass all the fucking time, it was too much for him. This is my fucking fault”.

Doc said, “Mickey, we have work to do. Let’s deal with Ian first, then we’ll talk about what this means. Now, get his pills so we can figure out if he’s missed any. Ok”?

“Ok, Doc,” he said as he rushed off to the bathroom to get Ian’s pill bottles. He was thankful that Doc was here. He could handle it on his own, but it was good to have backup. Professional fucking backup.

As it turned out, Ian had missed doses, not very many, but enough to throw his system out of whack. 

Doc saw him alone. She asked him simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions, so that he could answer with head nods. 

She explained that she spoke to his doctor and they agreed that a small dosage increase of his anti-depressant was needed. She told him that she would visit him daily to chart his progress and she would keep his doctor informed. 

“I explained everything to him, he understood what I was telling him. I’ll write a new prescription for his anti-depressant. For now, I’ll give him his regular dosage and you can start him on the new dosage tomorrow,” Doc told Mickey as she headed to the kitchen for water.

Mickey sat on the sofa blaming himself. It was too fucking much for Ian. Probably stopped taking his damn pills so he wouldn’t be so fucking tired. Working all fucking day, coming to see me, those fucking draining family sessions. I should’ve told him not to come see me every day, just come for the fucking family sessions. I knew this shit could happen. I fucking knew it.

“Mickey?” Doc was standing over him.

“Yeah, Doc? Did he take them”?

“Yes, he did. Are you alright?” she asked.

“I’m fine. Just worried about him”.

“I understand, but we’re doing what needs to be done. I told Ian that I’ll see him every day and keep his doctor informed. He knows that you’ll start him on the new dosage tomorrow. I will transfer you to out-patient status, and I’ll meet with you when I come to see Ian. How does that sound?” she asked.

“Sounds good, Doc. Thought I was gonna get kicked outta the program ‘cause I wasn’t gonna leave him. No fucking way was I gonna leave him”.

“I know, Mickey. You need to be here for Ian and for yourself. It’s the right thing to do. My job is to treat you, and Ian is the most important person in your life. That bond needs to be strengthened, not weakened. You’ve made tremendous progress toward your recovery. You’re very motivated. Like Ian said, you try so hard. There’s no way I’ll allow a few rules to interfere with your progress. Your well-being is my first concern. Now, I want you to stop with the self-blame and take care of your man. I’ll handle everything at the facility, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning at 11 o’clock. I’ll bring your things with me. Do you have any questions?” she asked as she stood up, ready to leave. 

“No, Doc. Thanks for everything. Just think, you asked me if I wanted a dude doctor. I knew that I already had the fucking best,” he said as he followed her to the door.

She smiled, “Thank you, Mickey. You give me something to work with. You’re invested in your treatment, you and Ian, both are. It’s my pleasure to work with you. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night. Get some rest”.

“I will. I’ll walk you to your car,” he said. 

Mickey came back in and went into the bedroom, Ian hadn’t moved. He sat on the bed, wanting so badly to touch him, to comfort him, but he was afraid to. Sometimes he couldn’t stand to be touched when he was like this. 

“Baby, I’m gonna stay home with you. Doc’s gonna take care of shit at the facility. I’ll have my sessions when she comes to see you. Good deal, huh? Everything’s gonna be alright, Ian. Promise. I love you so much, baby. Can you try to eat some soup for me? Maybe drink some juice? I’m gonna pick up a few things when I take your new prescription to CVS tomorrow. Get the shit you like. Gonna take good care of you, baby. I’ll go get your soup, be right back”.

Ian lay there thinking. Mickey should be at the facility, not here. He worked so hard to get well and I fuck it up for him. 

I’m gonna tell him to call Carl. Carl will come, he came before. He couldn’t remember why Carl came, but he knows that he came. He’ll come again. He said call if I need him. 

Jay said to let him know if I need something. Why did he say that? Fuck Jay’s gross ass. Why would I ask him for help? He just wants to fuck me. I’m not asking his gross ass for shit. 

Yeah, call Carl. He’ll tell Mickey not to call Jay, no matter what Jay says. Maya hates Jay, same as me. I hope Mickey doesn't call his gross ass. He's the worse boss, everybody says so. 

He wished Mickey would hurry up and come back so he could tell him to call Carl. 

He was so fucking tired. He tried to fight it, but sleep took him over. 

Mickey came back with a cup of tomato soup, Ian’s favorite and a glass of orange juice. Maybe he would take a couple sips of both. 

“Ian, I got tomato soup for you, added some milk while it was heating, just the way you like it, all creamy and shit. Brought you some orange juice, too. Can I help you sit up? You took your pills without eating. Gonna fuck up your stomach. Just try a little for me. Please baby”?

Ian peeked from beneath the covers, beautiful green eyes glistening with tears, “Tired, so tired, Mickey. Wanna sleep. Tired”. He looked around warily, he didn't see Jay anywhere. Mickey got rid of his ass. 

“I know baby. Just a few sips. Then we’ll get you to the toilet and I’ll help you with your pajamas, get you comfortable and I’ll let you sleep. Sound like a plan?” Mickey cajoled.

He waited for a beat and said, “Gonna pull the covers down a little bit, help you sit up, ok”? 

He gently pulled the covers back and was met with a scowl. 

“There’s my guy. What up, tough guy?” he laughed.

Ian sighed and let Mickey help him sit up, he reached for the cup with trembling hands. 

“I’ll help you hold it, baby. So we don’t spill the shit,” Mickey said, pleased that Ian was going to drink some.

Ian took a couple sips and turned his head away. There was something he needed to tell Mickey. It was important, but he couldn’t remember. Fucking useless brain. He couldn’t fucking remember. 

Mickey kept fucking with him about this damn soup. He wanted to scream at him, but he didn’t have enough fucking energy. Fuck the soup, he needed to sleep. No, he needed to tell Mickey something. 

Carl? Did Carl know what he needed to tell Mickey? How the fuck would Carl know? He doesn’t live here. But Carl was here. He came here. Why was he here? 

Did he bring Liam for the weekend? Was Liam here? Jay was here, too? The fuck?

Fuck, now Mickey was dragging his ass to the fucking toilet. Just leave me the fuck alone. I need to sleep.

Mickey was shouldering Ian’s weight as they stumbled to the bathroom, “That’s right baby, lean on me. You’re doing so good. Almost there, then we’ll get you comfortable in bed. Good. You did it, baby. There you go,” he said as helped Ian sit on the toilet.

When Ian was done, Mickey cleaned him up, noting how exhausted he was, “How ‘bout I carry you back? You’re worn out, baby”.

He carried Ian to the bed and got him into his pajamas quickly, “All done, baby. You can rest now. Alright if I sleep in here with you? Or I can sleep on the sofa if you want. No problem. Just want you to be comfortable”.

Ian was trying to remember something important. He had to tell Mickey something. Why couldn’t he remember? He started to cry out of frustration and sheer exhaustion.

Mickey was alarmed, “What baby? Did I hurt you? Why are you crying”?

“I’m sorry, Mickey. Fucked everything up. So sorry. Carl knows”.

Without thinking, Mickey pulled him into his arms, “Ian, you didn’t fuck anything up. You made everything right. You’re the best fucking person in this world. I love you, baby. I need you so much. I just want you to get better. You don’t got shit to be sorry about. What do you want me to know about Carl? Want me to call him or something”? 

Ian nodded, “He can come so you can go back. Call Carl, Mickey. Carl will help. He’s not like Lip. He’ll help. I don’t want Jay to help us. Don’t call him Mickey”.

Mickey could see that Ian was fighting to stay awake, his eyelids were drooping. He said, “Ian, I’ll call Carl if you want me to, but I’m not leaving you. Not going no fucking where until you’re feeling better. That’s fucking final. Doc is coming to see us every day. She already arranged it. I’m staying here with you where I fucking belong. I’m gonna take good care of you. Same as you always do for me. I owe you my fucking life, Ian”. He kissed his forehead softly, pleased when he didn’t flinch.

Mickey decided to sleep on the couch, he wanted Ian to be comfortable. He’d just check on him during the night. 

They didn’t have any beer, they didn’t have much of anything in the fridge. Ian had visited him every damn day he was allowed to, and he had neglected himself, his fucking health. He had always made sure they had fresh fruit and   
vegetables in the house. There was none of that now. Mickey would fix that shit in the morning. 

He sat there wondering if he should call Carl. He didn’t really see the fucking point. Why have Carl miss work when he was gonna be home? He decided to check with Ian again to be sure before he made the call. He didn’t have anything against Carl, he’d always liked the dude. He was nothing like that arrogant asshole, Lip. 

After the shit Ian said in the family session, he owed Carl big time. Not only for helping Ian rescue his sorry ass, but for taking care of Ian, too. He wasn’t worried about Carl running his mouth, the kid didn’t roll like that. If he had you, he had you. Fucking simple as that. Yeah, he’d just talk to Ian about it tomorrow. 

He remembered that Ian had said Jay’s name. Jay was his supervisor. He would call him tomorrow, find out what paperwork he needed and let Doc know. 

Mickey fell asleep on his sofa, in his home, for the first time in over two months.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Chicago, Svetlana manages to get Mickey and Ian's address.

Two days after Terry beat the living shit out of her, Svetlana was perched uncomfortably in a booth waiting for Kev. 

Terry didn’t fuck with her yesterday. Somebody had kicked the living shit out of his crazy ass. His nose was busted, his mouth was busted up, he had a black eye, the rest of his face was swollen and purple, and he could barely move his big, dumb ass around. 

His lazy ass was on the couch all day, pissing in a beer bottle and hollering for her to empty it. She was happy to see blood and puss mixed with his piss when she emptied the bottle. He had her waiting on his ass when she was in as much pain as he was, probably more. 

She didn’t want to give him a reason to beat her again, so she decided to try to get the address from Kevin today. Maybe he wouldn’t suspect anything since she had to pick up her money anyway. 

She was a hot mess. She was wearing large sunglasses that did little to hide her bruised face, two large bandages covered her busted nose, her top lip was split, a front tooth was missing, and another one was loose. 

Every bone in her body screamed with pain whenever she moved. 

Her pussy throbbed painfully, it hurt to pee, and she had a foul smelling discharge. Her asshole was sore. She could barely lift her arms, she couldn’t move the fingers on her left hand, even though she had iced it all day. 

She hadn’t been able to do anything for her right arm, she needed a sling for it. She planned to find one of her friends to help her when she was done here. 

She knew that she was in mortal danger, she blamed everyone but herself. She was only trying to survive in fucking America. Trying to have the fucking American dream she’d heard about all her fucking life. 

If that crazy ass Terry didn’t kill her first, she still intended to have her fucking dream. 

How the fuck was she gonna get the information from Kev? Would he be suspicious if she just asked for it? If that dumbass Debbie was suspicious, surely Kev would be, too. But she didn’t really have a choice. Terry was gonna kill her. She had to try. Shit. She hated them all.

Kevin sat down across from her, eyeing her curiously, “Fuck happened to your fucking face? Why’re you holding your arm like that? A trick fuck you up or something?” he asked, although he was positive that Terry Milkovich happened to her conniving ass.   
Terry was a fucking bully. He got his ass kicked and he went home and kicked her ass. But Kev didn’t have any sympathy for her, she was actively trying to hurt his friends. 

They had kept all their promises to her and her kid. They sent money every fucking month, paid the fucking property taxes, sometimes Ian even sent shit for the kid and she still wanted to hurt them. 

Ungrateful, conniving bitch. The bitch threw her lot in with Terry, she got exactly what she deserved. 

If she wasn’t careful, Terry would kill her. Everyone on the south side knew that he had killed Mickey’s mom years ago. 

He shook his head and sighed deeply. He had a job to do. Time to be done with all this shit.

He laid an envelope on the table and asked, “Where’s the kid”?

“Fever high. Teeth come,” she lied. He wasn’t with her because even if she didn’t want him, she sure as hell didn’t want him around Terry’s ass. Ever. 

“Oh. He still with Debbie?” Kev asked, playing along.

“Yes. I take home soon. Debbie talk to you?” she asked warily.

Kev ignored her question and fingered the envelope, “I’ll let Ian know that. How long has the kid been with Debbie this time?” he asked.

Before she could answer, Vee called him, “Baby, I need to talk to you for a minute. The beer count is all wrong”.

Kev jumped up, “What? No, I did the count myself. Be right there,” he said. 

He looked at Svetlana and said, “You look like shit. Be right back. Gimme a minute.”

He rushed off, leaving the envelope on the table.

Svetlana couldn’t believe her luck. That had to be the envelope the money came in. The envelope with their address on it. 

She cast a surreptitious glance around and slid the envelope toward her with shaking hands. Evanston, IL. They’re still in Illinois? She didn’t know where Evanston was, had never heard of it. Terry’s crazy ass would know. 

Maybe she would live another fucking day. She tried her best to memorize the address but kept getting the all the numbers confused…. address, zip code, apartment number. Fuck. Too many damn numbers. 

Her fucking head was throbbing, she couldn’t concentrate. 

She heard Kev coming, so she slid the envelope back across the table, and tried to school her features, but her face hurt too damn much.

Kev sat down across from her, none the wiser.

She left immediately with her money, trying hard to commit the address to memory. 

Kev grinned and shot off a short text to Carl, “Done”.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey has an eventful morning.
> 
> He tries to make sense of his feelings.

Mickey decided to walk to the university. The fresh air and the long walk invigorated him. He was glad to be outside again. 

He talked to Ian’s supervisor a few days ago, and he was bringing the required paperwork to him. He stepped off the elevator and found the office he was looking for.

He walked up to the counter, “I’m here to see Jay, for Ian Gallagher”.

“I’m Maya, a friend of Ian’s. You must be Mickey,” she said, extending her hand.

He shook her hand, smiling, “Yeah, I’m Mickey. What up, Maya”?

“I’m good. How’s Ian? Let him know I’m available if he needs anything,” she said.

“Will do. Jay in? I brought the paperwork he told me he needed, just wanna drop it off, make sure he gets it and shit,” Mickey said.

“Yeah, the prick’s in his office. The one on your left. Just knock, I’ll let him know you’re coming,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Thanks,” Mickey said. Fuck’s wrong with her? She got beef with her boss?

He knocked on Jay’s open door. 

“Come on in”.

Mickey walked in, “I’m Mickey. I talked to you about Ian, the other day. I brought the paperwork,” he said, holding it up.

Jay looked at Mickey, clearly confused, “Yes, I remember. Who are you to Ian, exactly”? 

“I’m his partner, man. That’s who I am to him”.

“I didn’t know Ian had a partner,” Jay said. Why didn’t he know about this? He and Ian talked all the time. He should’ve known about this guy. He clearly wasn’t Ian’s type. Ian is sweet and innocent. This guy is crude, crass, thuggish. What could Ian be thinking? He could do so much better. He could have Jay, someone worthy of him.

Mickey was getting pissed. Fuck’s wrong with this fucker? Maya was right to call his ass a fucking prick. Then he remembered Ian rambling about Jay. Telling him not to call Jay. What the actual fuck? 

“Why the fuck would you need to know that? What, you gonna discriminate against him or something? Do you know the relationship status of all those other people out there? My guess is ‘no’. The fuck you interested in Ian’s status? Do I need to go to HR on your ass?” he asked, eyebrows arched almost to his hairline.

Jay sat up in his chair, alarmed, “No, of course not. We don’t discriminate here. We respect everyone, no exceptions. This is a university, for goodness sake”. This is getting out of hand. He needed to reel it in, get this asshole out of his office.

“I know what the fuck this is, man. What I don’t know is why the fucking interest in Ian. Shit’s inappropriate as fuck. Seems like you been harassing his ass, Jay”.

“What?! No. I haven’t. He’s a model employee. Just wanted to make sure he’s doing ok. Everyone is concerned, he’s well liked here”. Sweat was trickling down his back.

“That’s all well and good, sending regards and shit. But you didn’t ask about his health, Jay. You were too fucking caught up in his relationship status, who I am to him and shit. Highly fucking inappropriate for a boss, Jay. But listen up, if I find out you been fucking with him in any way, and I do mean in any way, we, me and you, are gonna have a problem. I don’t think you’ll like the way I solve my fucking problems, Jay. Take heed, man. Now here’s the shit you wanted, and don’t fuck his shit up. I don’t wanna have to come back up in this bitch”.

Jay was way out of his element. He gulped as he noticed Mickey’s knuckles. This guy is a real thug. What’s Ian doing with a guy like this? I think he threatened me. Shit. 

He took the document with shaking hands, “Thanks for coming in. I’ll take care of it”.

“Read the shit, man. Make sure it’s right. I just told your ass, I don’t wanna have to come back up in this bitch. Should I just go to HR and tell them that you don’t seem to know what the fuck you’re doing ‘cause you’re too caught up in Ian’s fucking personal life. Huh, Jay? Sound like a good idea”?

Jay blinked rapidly, trying to compose himself, “No. No. No need to involve HR,” he said, quickly scanning the document.

“This is fine. Perfect. All in order”.

Mickey stood watching him, expression unreadable. Jay shivered involuntarily when he looked up at Mickey, “Have a good day, sir,” he said.

Mickey flipped him off, “Later, Jay”.

Jay got up and slammed his door, he didn’t see Maya lurking nearby, but Mickey saw her. She hurried to catch up and walked to the elevator with him, urging him into a corner. 

She told him, “I heard all that, so you got a witness. Everyone knows he’s been trying to get with Ian. He was going to HR, but he got sick. I told him he needed to handle that shit, before someone else goes to HR and they transfer his ass out and that prick will still be here. I saw it happen once already. I was going with him, we were going after work. He said he had somewhere to be in the evenings, but he could be a little late. I had to really stay on him to go, he kept telling me that he was busy after work. The last day Ian worked, Jay was trying to get him to come in the office, really pressing him and shit. I hollered out that I was leaving for lunch and Jay had to let him go. He had Ian all fucked up. That’s when I finally persuaded him to handle that shit.”

Mickey listened intently. Ian didn’t wanna be late visiting my ass. He was already stressed the fuck out and that motherfucker adds to it. I’m gonna kick his damn ass. 

He said, “Fuck”, and turned to go back in but Maya grabbed his arm.

“No, you don’t. They’ll call campus security and you’ll probably get arrested. Ian needs you at home, not in jail. I’m guessing his bipolar is fucking with him. He told me all about it so I would know the signs and shit. Said I was a part of his support system. I told you all that in case you need to file a case on that creepy prick. But I think you put righteous fear in his slimy ass. You let him know that you’re up on discrimination and harassment. I been documenting shit on my own, so we got an ongoing record. If he doesn’t fucking stop, or if he tries to get Ian transferred out, we’ll nail his ass”.

Mickey was impressed, this woman really cared about Ian. “Man. Thank you so much for looking out for my man. He tries so fucking hard, tries to take care of shit by himself. He shouldn’t have to put up with that asshole. But thanks again. I won’t forget you. Anything you need, call me. I’ll text you from my phone when I get home, get your number from Ian’s phone. You lock my number in. Stop by and see Ian whenever you want. Sure he’ll be glad to see you. Thanks again, Maya”.

“You’re welcome, Mickey. You call me if you need me to stay with him, if you need to run errands or something. Give him my love”.

Mickey needed to walk that shit off. He was so fucking mad he was practically cross-eyed. He wanted to stomp that motherfucker’s ass.  
Stressing Ian out cause he wanted to fuck him. I’ll fuck his ass up, the motherfucker. No matter how fucking hard they tried, something or someone always knocked them the fuck down. The fuck? 

Ian went to work every fucking day, loved his fucking job, did a fucking good job. That’s not enough, nah, he’s gotta deal with a fucking lecherous ass boss. 

Why would that asshole even think Ian wanted his ugly, gross ass? Cheap ass shiny suit, dingy white shirt, big ass nasty stain on that fucking outdated tie. Dumb ass motherfucker.

He walked at a fast clip, he was glad Maya stopped him from going back in there. It would’ve ended badly. She was right, Ian needs him at home. 

He looked up suddenly, somebody across the street was trying hard to get his attention. He squinted but couldn’t make out who the fuck it was. He kept walking. 

The guy hollered, “Wait,” running across the street, dodging cars.

“Hey man. Where you been? Been a minute and shit. I got what you need. How much you want? Got some of that other shit, too,” the guy grinned, falling into step with Mickey. 

“What did I ask you for, motherfucker?” Mickey asked, thumbing his bottom lip, eyebrows arched. He never slowed his pace.

“Hold up, man. I saw you over here, know what you need and shit. Just wanna help your ass out. We cool, man,” the guy said, reaching in his pocket. 

Mickey slowed down and studied him briefly, “Like I said, the fuck I ask you for? If I don’t ask you for nothing, we don’t got shit to talk about. It’s that simple, man. Don’t approach me no damn more”. 

The guy smiled then, blatantly checking Mickey out, “It’s like that, huh? Always wanted to holla at your fine ass. Thought I’d get around to it, thought you’d be around and shit. The fuck happened, man? You were all in, then you up and disappear. The fuck? Huh? Wanna get a drink or some shit sometime?” he asked, deciding to go for it. 

“Fuck you is what happened. Don’t want nothing you got. Later, motherfucker, and don’t approach my ass no damn more,” Mickey said, dismissing him. 

“Hold up, man,” the guy insisted, quickening his pace. He knew how to slow this junkie motherfucker down. The fuck he think he is? Acting all uppity and shit. 

“The fuck is your problem? I gotta knock your dumb ass out to get you to fuck off, motherfucker"? Mickey demanded, stopping and rolling his shoulders.

“Nah, Hell Nah. I come in peace, man. Just wanted to tell you ‘bout that crackhead Irv, that got shot over at the place. You know the place. Got both legs amputated, gangrene or some shit. Heard they took out one of his fucking balls, too. Think they might have to take the other one. He’s all fucked up, man. You know who I’m talking about don’t ya? Yeah, you know, motherfucker. Your ass was there. That one-eyed meth head bitch say you was there. She say some dudes carried your ass out right before the cops came. Say she saw the whole fucking thing. I know you know who fucked him up, man. I saw you go in there myself. You gonna deny it?” he asked smugly. 

He knew that he had the goods on this motherfucker, and he was gonna use it to his benefit. He liked that ass and he was gonna get him some.

Before the guy knew what was happening, Mickey grabbed him by the collar, dragged him into the alley and threw him into the concrete wall, hard, “Say what, motherfucker? I know what? Tell me again what the fuck you know I know, so I can kill your stupid, dope dealing ass. Come on, tell me again motherfucker”. 

Mickey was still worked up from that Jay bullshit. He wanted to stomp a motherfucker’s ass, anyway. This motherfucker caught him just right. Fucking corner boy gonna step to him? Fuck him. It’s on.

“Man, hold the fuck up. This shit ain’t even necessary. Fuck’s wrong with you?” the guy asked. This shit was going sideways. He had the upper hand. 

“I said tell me what the fuck you know about me so I can fucking kill you,” Mickey said, caging him in.

“I don’t know shit, man. Just speculating, going by what that bitch say. She probably dreamed the shit, probably don’t know the fucking difference. She a meth head. Get the fuck offa me, man,” the guy pleaded, desperate to get away. He was beginning to see how bad he had fucked up. This pretty, blue-eyed motherfucker is a fucking thug.

Mickey grinned viciously as he pulled his knife out, it was already open. He put it to the guy’s throat and drew blood, causing the guy’s eyes to widen in disbelief and his body to quake with fear. This motherfucker is crazy. Why didn’t I just leave him alone? Fuck this shit.

Mickey laughed mirthlessly, “What, you scared motherfucker? What about all that shit you know about me? You got the wrong motherfucker. You don’t ever fuck with me. I will fucking kill you and stuff your worthless ass in that dumpster over there. Ain’t shit stopping me. Your dumb ass’ll be incinerated before anybody even misses your fucking nobody ass. You don’t fucking matter, motherfucker. You’re a fucking corner boy, easy to be replaced. Throwing veiled threats at me. Throw another one. Come on asshole,” he snarled, drawing blood again.

Mickey looked down at the urine pooling at the guy’s feet, “You punk ass bitch motherfucker. Who the fuck lets you sell their fucking dope? They’re fucking fools. Look at your fucking scared ass, you’d just give the shit away if somebody says fucking boo, bitch. Ought to rob you and kick your dumb ass. Gonna step to me and talk shit,” he drew blood again.

The guy howled, “Leave me alone, man. Didn’t mean no fucking harm, just wanted to get with you, that’s all. Went ‘bout it the wrong way. I just like you, man. Won’t never bother your crazy ass again. Never, man. I swear. Don’t never wanna see your crazy ass no more”. 

The assholes he worked for would kill him if he fucked up their shit again. They had beaten him nearly to death the last time, he would be fucking dead this time. Why the fuck did he think fucking with this thug ass motherfucker was a good idea? Shit. 

“Listen up, motherfucker. If you ever approach me again, if you ever mention me to any fucking body, I will find you and I will kill your ass. Do you understand me? I will fucking kill you. I want you to understand, ‘cause this is your last fucking warning. Test me if you wanna. Look out for me, ‘cause I’ll be watching your punk ass,” Mickey snarled as he flipped the sorry fucker off and swaggered away, not letting on how worried he really was.

Fuck. That motherfucker could cause trouble for Ian if he keeps running his fucking mouth. Should just kill his ass and be done with it. 

He decided he’d just track the fucker and pop up from time to time. Scare the shit out of him. He berated himself yet again for the shit he got Ian involved in.

As he made his way home, his thoughts turned to the things Ian said about that night. Somebody was about to rape him, and he didn’t even know it. 

Laying his dumb ass up in a fucking dope den, passed the fuck out like he was at home. How the fuck did he fall so far in such a short time? He knows exactly which motherfucker it was. He had always stayed the fuck away from the freaky weirdo. But whenever he went to buy, the motherfucker was always lurking around, rubbing his dick and shit, nodding at him.

At first, Mickey never even considered going inside those fucking places. But he started snorting smack to get high quicker, needing to take the edge off. He used the pills to keep the buzz going, mostly at home, so he could deal with Ian’s nagging and shit. 

He never passed the fucked out, though. He knew better than that shit. He’s been around fucking addicts all his fucking life. 

Hell, he had made his living selling the shit. He knew the fucking game. Why did he let his fucking guard down like that? 

How did he not sense the danger he was in? 

Had he wanted something bad to happen? 

Had he wanted to fucking die like the ER doc asked him? 

Did he hate himself that fucking much? 

He had risked Ian’s fucking safety, Carl’s safety. Ian could’ve caught a fucking case over that shit.

Doc had been trying to get him to talk about the things Ian said about that night. He just couldn’t. He didn’t know how he felt about it. He didn’t have fucking words for how he felt. 

Their sessions mostly focused on his feelings about the kid. He finally told Doc about the nightmares with the baby, although he hadn’t had one in a long time. They had pretty much stopped after his second week in treatment. 

Doc seemed to think that the dreams had to do with all the anger he was feeling about being forced into fatherhood. 

What the fuck ever. He was slowly understanding that his apathy about the kid didn’t make him a bad person. He was learning to stop feeling guilty and to stop berating himself because he didn’t want anything to do with the kid. 

When he thought about it, Ian wasn’t ashamed of him because of it, so why should he be ashamed of himself? Ian’s good opinion of him mattered more than everyone’s bad opinions combined. Fuck ‘em. 

It was just so hard. He’d been ashamed of himself all his fucking life. It was ingrained and shit. No one ever accepted him for who he was until Ian. Hell, no one really knew who he was. No one cared enough to find out who he was. Until Ian. Ian always saw him. 

Terry had always treated him with contempt, went out of his way to criticize him, to ridicule him, beat him down. 

Everyone knew that Mickey’s brothers were dumbass fuck ups that stayed high and drunk all the time. They couldn’t even open a fucking box of cereal from the top without tearing the damn box up. They fucked up deals all the time, and Mickey had to make the shit right. 

But that didn’t stop Terry from hating Mickey, from belittling him, from beating him. And none of that stopped Mickey from trying to earn Terry’s fucking approval. Trying to earn his fucking love. 

Doc said all that shit created conflicting emotions in him. His need for connection and love, versus his fear of rejection and shaming. 

She said that the repeated physical and emotional abuse made him see himself as a bad, unlovable person. It all boiled down to him being ashamed of himself because of the way Terry treated him. 

He was ashamed because he didn’t believe he was worthy of love and acceptance. He believed what Terry told him. 

He believed that if Terry treated him that way, then he must deserve it. The fuck kinda shit is that, for real? 

Doc said the shame was Terry’s, not Mickey’s. He was still trying to wrap his head around all of it. He was so fucked up. 

Anyway, that’s the shit Ian stepped off into when he decided to be with Mickey. That didn’t deter Ian, though. He just dug in and fucking hung on, because he’s a stubborn fucker like that. 

Ian showed him what it felt like to be loved, and he taught Mickey how to love someone back. 

When he finally stopped fighting it and let himself love Ian, he wasn’t met with contempt and rejection. Ian just loved him more. 

Loving Ian made him strong, made him want better for himself. Ian’s love and understanding built him up, made him a better person. Made him dare to dream of a bright future for himself and Ian. 

It was just so fucking much, trying to sort this shit. He’d been so fucked up for so long, sometimes it felt fucking useless to keep trying. It was a tedious process. 

Doc kept telling him that shame and guilt can be overcome, he just had to be persistent and shit. Well, he was gonna go with that, for now at least. He would fucking persist.

He walked into his building, bypassing the elevator for the stairs, he wanted to tell his man how much he loved him, and he couldn’t wait for the fucking elevator. He took the stairs two at a time.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey confronts Ian about his odd behavior.
> 
> They begin a campaign of intimidation.

Ian was feeling better. He had been feeling better for a few days now, but he still stayed in bed all day. He knew that he was avoiding the inevitable, but he couldn’t bear the thought of talking about that dreadful night again. He just couldn’t. He knew that Mickey and Doc were waiting for him to feel well enough to resume the family sessions, so he hid out in the bed. He was a fucking coward.

He had been glad when Mickey left to take the paperwork to his job. Then when Doc called cancelling her session with Mickey for today because of an emergency, he felt like he had a reprieve. 

He got up and walked around the apartment, ate an apple, did some stretches. Fuck, it felt good to be up and moving around. He was about to take a quick shower and jump back in bed when Mickey came bursting through the fucking door, startling him. 

“Hey baby. You’re up. Feeling better?” Mickey asked, surprised, but glad to see him up.

“Hey. Yeah, some better. Was just gonna lay back down. Don’t wanna over do,” Ian said, heading for the bedroom. Shit. 

Don’t follow me, please don’t fucking follow me, knowing full well that he would.

Mickey did follow him, “Took care of everything with that asshole, Jay. Maya said ‘hey’, she’s gonna call you later. She’s a good friend, huh?” he asked, wanting to gauge Ian’s reaction.

“Yeah. She’s great. Trained me and shit. Always got my back,” Ian said, crawling in the bed.

Mickey decided to wait to ask him about Jay another time. For now, he didn’t understand why Ian was staying in bed. 

In the past, he was always eager to get back to it after a fucking episode. It was clear as day that he was feeling better, but he was still in the fucking bed all day. Is he avoiding me? He doesn’t act upset, he just stays in the fucking bed.

“Doc had to cancel your session today. An emergency came up. She checked in with me, told me to tell you,” Ian said, settling under the covers.

“Ok. Good. We got the whole day to ourselves. What do you wanna do? Take a walk, maybe we can get some lunch at that hipster café you like so much?” Mickey asked.

“Nah. I better take it easy. Plan to go back to work next week,” Ian said.

“We can order a pizza, watch a movie, then. Or I can go get whatever you got a taste for, baby”.

“Think I’m gonna take a nap, feeling a little tired”.

“Ok, Ian. Fuck’s going on with you, man? I know it’s something,” Mickey said, his patience gone.

“I’m just tired, Mickey. Wanna take a nap”.

“Is it me? You avoiding me? Don’t want me around or something?” Mickey asked, anxiously.

“Mickey, stop talking fucking crazy. ‘Course I want you around. I love you, you know that”.

“I love you, too. That’s how I know something’s wrong with you. Any other time, the minute you feel better, you’re up, fucking raring to go and shit. Now, I walk in the fucking door and you jump in the fucking bed, you need a nap and shit”.

“I’m just tired, Mickey. Why can’t you just fucking accept that?”

“Because I know your ass, that’s why. Now, tell me what’s wrong”?

Ian jumped up, “Fuck it. You wanna watch a fucking movie, let’s watch a fucking movie,” he said, brushing past Mickey on his way to the living room.

Mickey stood there in stunned silence for a minute. Well, at least he got his ass up. He followed him into the living room, “We gonna get pizza or you want Chinese”?

Ian was sitting on the sofa, chin set, arms folded. Mickey thought he looked adorable, sitting there pouting and shit. 

He walked over, jumped in Ian's lap, and gave him a big, wet, kiss. 

Ian wiped his face and laughed as he pushed him away, “Get the fuck away from me, asshole”.

“Never. Never gonna leave you again,” Mickey grinned, kissing all over his face.

“I want Chinese, order a deep dish pizza for your crazy ass,” Ian told him, trying not to smile.

Mickey called their orders in while Ian scrolled Netflix for a movie.

“While we’re waiting for our food, you wanna tell me what the fuck’s bothering you? Not gonna stop asking till you tell me, man. You know I can be a relentless motherfucker”.

“Mickey, I don’t wanna talk about it. I’m fine. Let it go,” Ian pleaded.

“Doc said we shouldn’t keep shit bottled up. It’s fucking unhealthy for our relationship. But you already know that shit. Been saying it to me for years. So, fucking spill it, asshole”.

Ian sighed heavily, “Fuck you. I keep thinking about that night, Mickey. The night we found you. I was good, had pushed it to the side, till you made me talk about it in the family session, now it’s all I can fucking think about”.

“I’m sorry I put you in that fucked up situation, Ian. You and Carl, both. I put you at risk. I was outta my fucking mind, man. I had to be stone fucking crazy to even go up in there to get high”.

“The fuck were you thinking, Mickey”?

“I don’t know, man. Guess I wasn’t fucking thinking. Just wanted to get high. Thought I needed it,” he said with his head down. He was so ashamed.

“He was gonna fuck you, Mickey. He had his pants down with his ass out, he had his fucking dick out. He was pulling your fucking jeans down. If I was a minute later, he would’ve had his dick up your ass. You would’ve been raped again, and I would’ve killed him, Mickey. I would’ve fucking killed him”.

“I’m glad you found me, Ian. I’m glad nobody there knows who you are. It was dark out, so they didn’t see your hair. They just know it was a big, tall dude. I’d never forgive myself if you got in trouble over some shit I did. Shit I brought on myself. I’m so sorry, man”.

Alarm bells immediately went off in Ian’s head, “How do you know ‘they’ didn’t see my hair, Mickey? How the fuck do you know what ‘they’ know about it?” he asked, his voice raising, using finger quotes.

Mickey got off Ian’s lap and sat down next to him, “Ian, I’m not fucking with that shit, I promise you I’m not. The day I woke up in the hospital, the day you knocked my ass out and I walked outta here, I went back there to make a play. I didn’t even know the shit had happened when I left here. Dude told me about the asshole that got shot in both legs the night before. He said a big, tall dude shot him. I put the shit together, I already knew that you found me that night and took me to the ER. So, I knew he was talking about you, Ian. I bought my shit and walked away, like I wasn’t interested in the shit he was saying, but I was scared as hell. Didn’t want him to link me to the shit. I had already withdrawn some money from the ATM at a gas station, so I got a room, wanted to be safe and shit. Was gonna call you and apologize, let you know I was safe, so you wouldn’t worry about my ass and shit. Ian, man, you could get time for that shit. You could get fucking time because I was fucking around with drugs, getting high and shit in a fucking dope den. I started walking and I didn’t stop walking till I got to Tim’s office, Ian. I put the shit I bought on his desk, all of it. Told him I needed help, baby. I left the fucking room I paid for without even sitting down. I just fucking left and started walking and thinking about what I was doing to you. You shot a fucker because of me. I was fucking done, done with it all”.

Ian had been listening carefully, “So, just like that, you were done?” Ian asked.

“Just like that, I was fucking done. Asked Tim to call you, tell you I was gonna go to the facility. He told me to call you my damn self, so I called you. The rest is fucking history. When I found out that I’d put you in danger, that was it, baby. I just hate it went that fucking far. I’m so sorry, Ian. But I’m better now, doing all I can to keep getting better,” Mickey said.

“I know how hard you’re trying, Mickey. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to set you back. I just wanted to protect you. You said you started having dreams, flashbacks or some shit about that night?” Ian asked.

“Yeah. The motherfucker you shot was always lurking around, calling me pretty boy and shit. Licking his lips and rubbing his dick. The first time I went in, he followed me. He didn’t say nothing to me, then I look up, nasty motherfucker had his dick out, jerking it and grinning at my ass. I did what I did and got the fuck up outta there. The night you found me, I didn’t see him, must’ve been lurking around waiting for me to nod out or something. I fucked up and passed out. But in the dreams or whatever, he was standing over me with his dick out, telling me he was gonna fuck me. Sometimes, he’d be pulling my pants down, grabbing at my dick and shit, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight ‘im off and shit. I already knew that you shot his ass and I needed to know why. I was fucking scared to know what he did to me, but I had to know. I fucking had to know, Ian. If it wasn’t for you, he would’ve done what I was scared he did”. 

“I wanted to kill him, Mickey. Just like I wanted to kill Terry. They both took advantage of you. I promised you that I wouldn’t let you be hurt like that again. I meant it. I scared the shit outta Carl, he thought I was gonna kill that motherfucker. Probably would’ve if he wasn’t standing right there with your doped up ass slung over his shoulder. I’m still gonna get Terry and Svetlana, if it’s the last fucking thing I ever do. Mark my fucking words”.

“Ian, it’s over, man. I’m getting help. It’s gonna be fine”.

“I’m glad you’re so fucking optimistic. That’s why I love you so fucking much. You take a holt and do your best, fight like hell to have a better life, and some motherfucker is always there waiting to destroy you. All this shit, the fucking drugs, that asshole trying to rape you, stems from the shit Terry and that bitch did to you. I just wish I would’ve got you outta that damn house sooner. Fuck that whore and her baby. We should’ve left the day Terry was arrested. We could’ve made it here, would’ve been harder, but we could’ve handled it. We can handle anything together. I shouldn’t have made you stay, Mickey,” tears were spilling down Ian’s cheeks by now.

“Baby, please don’t cry. You’re not to blame for none of it. None of it, Ian. You did your best. You always do your best for me. You always take care of me. I’m stronger now and getting stronger every fucking day. I’m gonna take care of you now,” he said, gathering Ian in his arms. 

They had finished eating and were squabbling over a movie when Mickey suddenly said, “Tell me about Jay, Ian”.

“What? Jay? He’s my boss, you already know that,” Ian said, confused.

“Come on, Ian. He’s been harassing you, man. Why didn’t you say something”?

“I was handling it. How do you even know? Maya tell you? The fuck she do that for”?

“Calm down. She heard me talking to him. Wanted me to have the fucking facts. She kept me from kicking his ass. Why didn’t you tell me?” Mickey demanded.

“Said I was handling it, damn it. It didn’t get bad till you went into treatment. I was gonna go to HR, but I had that fucking episode. Why would I tell you? Nothing you could do about it. I can handle my own shit, Mick. You’re dealing with enough as it is. Why were you gonna kick his ass? Maya got you all worked up or something”?

“Nah, not really. That fucker did that all on his own. Had to check his ass before she told me anything”.

“What did he say?” Ian asked warily. Now this shit on top of everything else. Fuck Jay’s gross ass.

“Shit about he didn’t know you had a fucking partner. I asked him why the fuck he thought he should know your fucking relationship status. Asked him if I needed to go to HR then and there. Maya heard the whole thing. When I came out, she pulled me to the side and told me everything. She thinks he might try to get you transferred out, to another department and shit. Says she’s been documenting and shit, so you’d have a record. She’s a good friend, man”.

“Huh. I didn’t know she was documenting the shit. Fuck. I’ll handle it when I go in next week. Sure as fuck don’t wanna get transferred. Shit. I’ll call Maya later. What else did he say?” Ian asked, clearly worried.

“Not much after I threatened him with HR and shit, but I don’t trust the motherfucker. I get so mad when I think about all the shit I put you through, and here he comes, piling on with his bullshit. Maya said he was trying to get you in his office your last day there, she said he had you cornered and shit. If it wasn’t for my sorry ass, you running around trying to see me every fucking day, you would’ve handled it. I fucked you in so many ways, Ian. Don’t try to deny it, either. We both know it’s true”.

“You didn’t harass me, Mickey, Jay did. How’s that your fucking fault”?

Mickey said, “If you didn’t rush off to see my ass every day, you would’ve had time to handle your business. You know what I’m saying”.

“Well, it is what it is. I’ll handle it”.

Mickey considered the words he was about to speak, “Gotta tell you something else. Don’t want you to get upset, just hear me out, ok”?

Ian panicked. What the fuck else? He felt like jumping back in the bed and covering his head until all this shit was over. 

Instead he steeled himself, “What”?

“I saw the fucker I was doing business with, the corner boy, saw him on my way home from your job,” Mickey said, carefully watching Ian’s reaction. He didn’t want to set him off.

“You went back there? You fucking went back there after all we just went through? Fuck’s wrong with you? I can’t believe you’re still fucking around over there,” Ian said, jumping up and glaring at Mickey.

“Calm the fuck down, Ian. I didn’t go back there. I wasn’t anywhere near there, man. He stopped me on the fucking street. I was walking home. He said he knew that I know something about that fucker getting shot”.

Ian paled, but stayed silent. Fuck. He wasn’t scared, he was fucking furious.

Mickey continued, “I dragged his ass in the alley and jacked him up. Told him I would kill his ass if he mentioned me to anybody. Scared the piss outta his ass. Literally scared the piss outta his bitch ass. Told him I’d be watching him”. 

“I got Carl caught up in this shit. Fuck,” Ian said.

“They only know it was a big, tall dude. He didn’t mention nobody else. Didn’t mention your red hair or nothing. Thousands of big, tall fuckers out there, Ian. I’ll take care of it, baby. Don’t worry. You’ve done enough. Ran yourself fucking ragged. My turn now, I caused all this shit”.

Ian rolled his eyes, “What you gonna do, huh? Kill all your fucking dope fiend buddies”?

Mickey ignored the insult, because he deserved it. “Hope I don’t have to kill anyone, but to protect you, I will. I was thinking that I’d show up from time to time, let the fucker know I’m watching his pussy ass. Don’t say nothing to him, just make sure he sees me watching him. He’s a fucking punk ass bitch. Stood up there and pissed himself, man,” he said, chuckling at the memory.

“Some good, old Mickey Milkovich south side intimidation, huh?” Ian asked, smiling.

“Yeah, something like that. He said they amputated that asshole’s legs and one of his balls, gangrene or some shit. You really fucked him up, baby”.

“Should’ve killed the motherfucker,” Ian said angrily.

Mickey shivered, studying Ian closely. Shit, he’s a mean fucker. He looks all sweet and shit, but he’s mean as hell. He’s a deadly motherfucker.

Mickey shook himself, “So what do you think? About my plan”? 

Ian thought about it for a minute, “Might work. But you’re not going by yourself, I’m going with you, asshole”.

“Nah, man. You’re the big, tall motherfucker he’s talking about, Ian. Fuck’s wrong with you? He sees us together, he’ll know. Nah, you ain’t going nowhere near that punk ass bitch. No. No fucking way”.

“Think about it, Mickey. He knows I’m big and tall, and he knows I’ll shoot a motherfucker. You wanna really scare his ass, I show up with you. I assume you’ll go at night, right? We wear hoodies and shit. He can’t identify my ass, but he’ll know it’s me ‘cause I’ll be with you. I think it might work. When are we going?” 

The more Ian thought about it, the more excited he became.

“Fuck you, man. Good point, though. We start tonight. We’ll just stand across the street, make sure he sees us, then leave. And don't shoot the motherfucker, Ian. We go back coupla days later, then a week later. We give him time to get comfortable, forget about us, we show up again. Shit like that. Worked on the fucking south side”. He was warming up to his plan.

Ian grinned, “Fine. Just like old times, fucking with people and shit. Yeah”. 

Mickey was in his fucking element. Planning to fuck with somebody, break the law and shit. It was incredibly hot. Ian licked his lips and covered Mickey's body with his own. 

Later that night, Ian looked at his phone, “Almost time to leave for our mission. Ready, Seagal?” he asked as he got up and stretched, shooting Mickey a wicked grin.

“Fuck you, man. Let’s do the shit,” Mickey laughed, enjoying the view in front of him.

They had been standing on the adjacent corner, hoodies covering their faces for about 5 minutes before their target took notice of them. 

They knew the exact moment he spotted them because he dropped whatever he was holding and stood stock-still, staring at them. 

Mickey gave the guy a mock salute while Ian stood there quietly, then they slowly walked away. 

They repeated the mission sporadically over the next few weeks, always standing there quietly until they were noticed by their target. Mickey would salute before they walked away.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey faces his demons head on. Ian is right by his side, loving him.

This was going to be their first family session since Ian’s episode. They sat at opposite ends of the sofa waiting for Doc, each lost in his own private thoughts. 

Ian had postponed the sessions for as long as he could. He still didn’t want to talk about that damn night. He was plagued with thoughts about what would’ve happened if he had been a minute later. 

Mickey was trying to get a handle on the danger he put himself in that night, intentional or not. 

He couldn’t believe that he had let Ian see him in another fucked up situation. Ian had to rescue his helpless, useless ass. Again. 

Why had he put himself in that fucking situation? Sure, he was high, but why the fuck didn’t he make sure he was safe? 

He knew that all kinds of lowlife motherfuckers hung out in that fucking place, that’s why he had avoided it. 

Then, one day he said fuck it and went in. 

He exhaled loudly, “FUCK!!.”

“What?” Ian asked in alarm.

“Nothing, baby, just thinking,” he said quietly, chewing on his lower lip.

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“Pretty sure we’ll talk about enough shit when Doc gets here,” Mickey said. 

“Ok, then, we’ll just wait. She should be here soon,” Ian said as he scooted closer to Mickey and rubbed his thigh soothingly.

Mickey smiled at him. Ian was too good for him. He was certain that he caused Ian’s last episode. All Ian did was clean up his fucking messes, he would be better off without Mickey. 

He would have a chance for a better life with a normal guy. Someone without all the fucking baggage Mickey dragged around everywhere he went. 

Ian deserved a real man that could take care of himself, that could take care of Ian, a guy that wouldn’t allow himself to be beaten and raped like a pussy. Someone who wasn’t a fucking helpless victim.

Doc arrived right on time, and jumped right in, “So, Ian, in our last session, you talked about finding Mickey passed out in the dope house with the guy molesting him, about to rape him. You shot the guy and got Mickey out of there. Is that basically what happened”?

Ian nodded, resigned, “Yep. That’s about it”.

“Mickey, you don’t remember any of it?” she asked.

“Not really. Just some fucking dreams, flashbacks and shit”.

“Can you talk about them?”  
Mickey studied his shoes as he spoke, “Sometimes somebody is fucking with me, pulling at my pants, fucking with my dick, shit like that. I couldn’t make him stop. I was fucking helpless again. Useless and shit,” he said, never looking up.

“Had you been in that house before, Mickey?” Doc asked.

“Yeah, a few times, but I never passed out before. Just handled my business and got the fuck on outta there. Didn’t wanna be around those fucking lowlife motherfuckers. They’ll do anything up in there”.

“What happened this time? Why did you stay?” she asked.

He scrubbed his face with shaking hands, “I don’t fucking know. I didn’t fucking go in there intending to stay. It just fucking happened, alright”?

“Nah, Mickey. It’s not fucking alright. Why the fuck did you put yourself in danger like that?” Ian asked, angrily. 

The fuck, it just happened. What kinda answer is that? That shit didn’t just happen. He wanted a better answer. Mickey owed him that much. Hell, Mickey owed himself a better answer.

“Must’ve did too much smack. Passed out and shit. I don’t fucking know, Ian”. He felt pressured, cornered, he wanted to run. He didn’t know how much more he could take.

Doc noted their interaction. “Ian, what are you feeling?” she asked.

“I just don’t understand why he was so fucking careless. He could’ve brought his ass home and got high. Wouldn’t have been the first fucking time, he did it all the time. Guess he thought I was too fucking crazy to know what he did in the fucking bathroom all the time, what he did when I was at work”, Ian said angrily.

Mickey’s head shot up, “You knew? You knew and didn’t say nothing?”

“Fuck you, Mickey. ‘Course I fucking knew. I grew up around fucking drug addicts, same as you. Frank and Monica were addicted to smack, asshole. You know that shit,” he said bitterly. He hadn’t realized he was so fucking mad. 

Doc paused for a beat, allowing Mickey to process the information. 

“I was just fucking tired, alright? Fucking tired of it all. No matter what I did, how much dope I did, how much fucking booze I drank, nothing fucking helped for long. I just wanted it all to stop, just for a little while. I just wanted some peace. A little fucking peace”. 

“Were you trying to kill yourself, Mickey?” Ian asked in alarm, scared to death of the answer. 

“What?! Fuck, No.!! Ian, I promise I wasn’t trying to kill myself. No. Just wanted to forget shit. That’s all.” Mickey said, looking at Ian for the first time. He had to believe him.

“What exactly were you trying to forget, Mickey? Can you tell us?” Doc asked.

“All of it. Every damn thing that happened. All of it.”

Ian started to speak, but Doc said, “Give him a minute, Ian”.

Mickey didn’t have words for his damn feelings. How was he supposed to tell Ian how scared he was, all the time, all his fucking life? 

How was he supposed to tell him how much he hated himself? 

That he had always hated himself? 

How could he tell him that he felt fucking helpless? 

That he was convinced that shit would never get better for him? That he was fucking doomed, just like Terry always said. Fucked for life. That was him. How could he tell Ian those things? 

He thought he was getting better, but now it was all back. He was back where he fucking started before therapy, except for the drugs. He was a fucking fool to think that he could get better. 

Ian and Doc were waiting for him to say something. Fuck, he should just get up and walk the fuck out of here. Not to get high, just to get the fuck away. To give Ian a shot at a normal life. 

He thought about all the shit he put Ian through. Ian had risked his freedom, he shot that asshole because he was fucking with Mickey. He just wasn’t worth the trouble. But apparently Ian thought he was worth the trouble. He had to try for Ian. He would try one more time, for Ian.

So, he sat back and sighed heavily, “I’m always fucking scared. Alright? All the fucking time. I feel like a fucking piece of shit. All the fucking time. I thought I was getting better, but talking about it, listening to Ian talk about it, every fucking thing is coming back. Fuck.”

Ian decided to keep his fucking mouth shut. Let Doc handle this. She’s the damn professional.

Doc said, “I think you are doing better, Mickey. But trauma recovery is a process, a long, painful process. You’ve been traumatized all your life. You’ve never felt that you had control over your life. Terry robbed you of your autonomy when you were a child. He kept you afraid of him and afraid of the unknown. You never knew what to expect, but you did know to fear it, whatever it might be. He created a chaotic living environment and blamed everyone around him for the chaos. I believe that you were the most sensitive of his kids, so you took on the role of peace keeper, an adult role. He was your father, the person you learned from, the person you loved and wanted to please. You relied on him for love and guidance, but he never gave you the guidance that a responsible parent gives a child. He never taught you how to do better. You were left to figure it out on your own. When you thought you had it, when you did something that you thought would please him, he ridiculed you, he beat you, and he rejected you. He kept you off balance on purpose, that’s how he controlled you. You were always scrambling trying to please him, but nothing you did was ever enough. He made you believe that you were incapable of doing anything right, that you would never amount to anything, that you were worthless. He cultivated those feelings throughout your life, making you believe that there will always be something wrong with you no matter how hard you try. He made you believe that it was your fault that he didn’t love you, that if you were a better son, he would be able love you. You spent most of your life trying to be worthy of his love”. 

When neither of them spoke, she said, “Let’s take a small break”.

They both nodded eagerly. Ian jumped up so quickly, he stumbled into the coffee table. He needed a fucking minute, 

“Thank fuck. We have pop, water, juice, Doc. Me and Mick are having Pepsi,” he said as he hurried to the kitchen. He hated Terry Milkovich. He vowed once again to make him pay. Him and that bitch. He fucking hated them.

Doc smiled, “Pepsi is fine, Ian. Thank you”. 

Mickey sat there with a dazed look in his eyes.

“Mickey, how are you doing so far? I know this is difficult for you,” Doc asked, gently.

“I’m fine. Just thinking, is all”.

She wanted him to have a few minutes to himself. 

Ian passed the drinks around and took his seat next to Mickey, asking, “You alright, baby”?

“I’m good”.

Doc gave it a few more minutes, then asked, “Shall we continue”?

Mickey sat back, rubbing his forehead, “Yeah. Fuck”.

Doc began, “Mickey, I need to hear your thoughts”. 

He had listened quietly to everything Doc said before. He remembered that even as a little kid he always tried to fix shit. 

He made sure there was always a cold beer waiting for Terry. 

He made sure there was something for Terry to eat, even if he called it shit and hurled it at Mickey’s head sometimes. 

He made sure that Mandy and his brothers were quiet when Terry was sprawled on the sofa sleeping all day. 

He made sure that pain pills and water was waiting for him when he woke up with a fucking hangover. 

And, he always made sure he was far enough away to avoid the inevitable kick, slap, or punch for his effort. 

But he couldn’t avoid the hate filled words. He had to stand there and listen. He tried so fucking hard to be good, he just wanted his father to love him, to spare him a kind word, a smile, anything. 

He just didn’t understand why Terry hated him so much. 

He tried to force the memories back down, but a loud, guttural sob escaped from deep within, and before he knew it, his entire body was wracked with gut wrenching sobs. 

Ian was startled, severely unnerved, he didn’t know how to react. Should he try to comfort Mickey? Would that make it worse? 

He looked at Doc for help, but she was studying Mickey with a peculiar look in her red rimmed eyes. 

Her heart was breaking for the frightened, lonely child Mickey had been. The broken, frightened man he was now. 

She hated Terry Milkovich with every fiber of her being and she hoped that he would spend the rest of his miserable, fucking life in a prison cell. Far away from Mickey. 

Ian took a chance and inched closer, he touched Mickey’s shoulder tentatively. When he didn’t resist, Ian gathered him in his arms and held him tightly. 

He didn’t urge Mickey not to cry because Mickey needed to cry. 

He didn’t tell him everything would be ok, like he usually did, he just held him and loved him. 

Mickey snuggled against Ian’s chest and sobbed his heart out. Ian just let him. 

Mickey finally calmed down enough to speak, “Ever since I was a fucking kid, I did everything I could think of to please him. I didn’t always know what to do. It just wasn’t enough. It was never enough. I felt like it was my fucking fault when he blew up, like I missed something. Like I should’ve anticipated it or some shit. I was a fucking kid, I was just a fucking kid. I tried to make him love me. Nothing I did was ever enough. Fuck”. 

Doc took a deep breath, “Terry made you believe that you deserved the abuse, that it was all your fault, that you should be better, should do better. He told you that you were worthless, he made you believe that nothing you did was good enough. He pounded that into you, Mickey. He literally pounded that into you. You grew up not only fearing rejection, you came to believe that you deserved to be rejected. You grew up feeling ashamed of the person Terry made you believe you are. You grew up feeling that you were somehow defective, that no one would ever love you or accept you, and it was all your fault. He taught you to be ashamed of the defective and hopeless person he taught you to believe you are. He did the same thing with the rape, Mickey. He told you that it was your fault because you are gay. In his twisted mind, being gay is a defect. He told you he was raping you to teach you a lesson, he was teaching you how to behave like a real man. Those are his narratives, and you can reject them, Mickey. You get to create your own narratives about who you are. You get to say who you are. Do you see what I’m saying”?

After a moment he said, “Fuck, Doc. Yeah, I think I see what you’re saying. He said the same thing about the wedding. The asshole made me sit there while he talked about the wedding and shit. Said it was father and son shit. He told me all about how he had arranged everything. How she wasn’t the wife he would’ve picked and shit, but she would have to do ‘cause of circumstances and shit. It was my fault that I had to marry a whore. Motherfucker was all proud and shit. Fuck,” Mickey said.

“So, do you see the pattern in his abusive behavior?” she asked.

Mickey exhaled loudly, “Yeah”.

Ian piped in “So, Mick’s gotta change how he thinks about shit? Change how he thinks about himself”? 

Doc smiled, “Yes. You need to accept that it is Terry’s own fault that he didn’t love you. Not yours, Mickey. The horrible physical and emotional abuse was Terry’s fault, not yours. Those are his actions. He hurt you and he made you fear him. He did that on his own. He’s the defective one. You had to manage all that fear and hurt on your own. You were a child, trying to balance your emotions. No child is equipped for that, very few adults can survive such pervasive mental and physical cruelty without help. So, you built defensive walls to protect yourself. You were just trying to survive, you were all alone, you had no one. You survived the horrors of your childhood, but you never dealt with the pain and trauma”. 

She paused and asked, “Any questions so far? Either of you”?

“So that’s why it was so hard for him to love me?” Ian asked.

“I believe so, Ian. All his life, his love and devotion was met with violence, cruelty and rejection. That was his frame of reference for loving someone. Loving you made him vulnerable, and that terrified him. He thought that loving you meant that he was weak. I believe he resented you initially, because he fell in love with you”.

Mickey rubbed his eyes roughly with the heels of his hands but remained silent. 

Ian gently removed Mickey’s hands from his eyes and held them in his lap. 

“Shall we continue, Mickey? Do you have questions about anything we’ve covered so far?” Doc asked.

“No. No questions. How much longer? Got a fucking headache, Doc,” Mickey said quietly.

“I just want to cover a bit more, then we can wrap up for tonight. Ok”? 

“Fucking fine,” Mickey said.

Doc laughed softly, “Mickey, you tried to bury the pain and stress of your childhood, for two reasons, I believe. One, because it was so very painful, and two, you didn’t have the skills or the support to deal with it. You were too busy trying to survive all the violence, trying to wade through the manipulation. The pain and all the feelings associated with it, was triggered by the rape, and by the pregnancy that resulted from the rape. The drug abuse was a result of it all becoming too much for you to bear. It overwhelmed you and finally wore you down. You couldn’t cope on your own anymore, so you turned to drugs in search of the peace you so desperately craved,” she paused, giving them time to absorb the information.

Ian muttered, “Shit,” as he clasped Mickey’s hands tighter. He didn’t know if he was comforting Mickey or himself at this point.

Mickey remained silent, thinking.

“So, we explored the ways Terry used cruelty and violence to control you, all your life, making you believe it was all your fault, making you believe you deserved it. He raped you, used the pregnancy and the planned marriage, all to control you. He wanted you to believe it was all your fault. He convinced you that you deserved to be treated so horribly because you were defective. He made you feel ashamed of the defective, worthless person he made you out to be. Any questions about any of that?” Doc asked.

“Nah,” Mickey answered, quietly.

“Good. Next time, we’ll work on rejecting Terry’s narrative around the cruelty and violence, and we’ll get into depression as it relates to substance abuse. We’re moving along nicely. I’m quite pleased,” Doc said, gathering her things.

“Depression? I’m fucking depressed, too? The fuck”? Mickey asked in alarm.

Doc laughed, “Calm down, Mickey. It’s not as bad as all that. But, yes, you do exhibit depressive symptoms, as do many, if not most people with drug abuse problems. You’re doing very well, Mickey. I know how difficult this session was, but we’re moving forward. As you and Ian talk about it all, things will begin to make more sense. Don’t rush it, just in normal conversation, if something comes up, talk about it. Ok”?

“The fuck ever,” Mickey said. He wanted this to be over, he was fucking drained, emotionally and physically.

Ian and Doc laughed while Mickey scowled at them both.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry and Svetlana finally make it to Evanston with a disastrous outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A murder occurs in this chapter.

Terry and Svetlana were standing outside of the apartment building in the rain, waiting for someone to either leave, or enter the building so they could get in. 

The wetter Terry got, the madder he became. He reminded Svetlana of a wet, rabid dog. He kept snarling about those ‘fucking faggots’. 

Svetlana was scared, more scared than she’d ever been in her life. Terry acted like it was her fault they couldn’t get in. 

She wanted to run as fast, and as far away as possible, but she knew without a doubt that Terry would shoot her down in the street if she tried to run. 

None of this was going the way she planned. She realized now that she never had a plan. She just wanted to get even with those two for shitting all over her American dream. She just wanted them to pay for ruining her shitty life. 

But so far, she was the only one suffering from this maniac’s cruelty. He beat the shit out of her, raped her, nothing she did satisfied him, sometimes he would walk past her and haul off and knock the shit out of her for no fucking reason, daring her to say something. 

Her nerves were shot, she was scared all the fucking time. Scared to leave the house, scared to stay in, scared to sleep, scared to speak. She was scared all the fucking time. 

What on earth had made her think that getting involved with Terry’s deranged ass was a good idea? She had seen the way he treated his own fucking son. 

She cringed, when she remembered how she laughed at Mickey, how she ridiculed him, how she used his fear of Terry to manipulate him. 

Now, here she was at the mercy of the same fucking mad man. In the end, Mickey had Ian to help him, she had no one. She was always alone in the end. 

Terry brought her back to the business at hand with a violent shove, “Get your skank ass over there and push all those fucking buzzers. Some dumb asshole will let us in. You better fucking hope they do, bitch”.  
She glared at him, as she stumbled into the heavy glass door face first, “How I make them answer?” she asked, stabbing all the buttons with wet, shaking hands.  
Terry puffed his chest out, taking immense pleasure in her fear, “Do what I fucking tell you. Don’t question me, you piece of shit,” he barked. 

Upstairs, Ian and Mickey looked at each other. “That’s them, Mick. Now you go in the bedroom and lock the door, like we talked about. Me and Carl got this. I don’t want you involved till you call 911. Ok, baby? I got this. I’m gonna take care of you. Now go on”.

Mickey was terrified, his entire body was quaking, he had chewed his bottom lip raw, his fingernails were bitten down to the quick, but he didn’t want to leave Ian. 

He knew how dangerous Terry was, he would kill Ian this time, and it would be Mickey’s fucking fault. No, he wasn’t going in the fucking bedroom.

“Nah. I’m staying here with you. This shit could go wrong. I’m staying out here with you”.

Ian kissed his forehead tenderly, “Baby, everything’s in place. Carl is already in the building. I’m gonna let those dumbasses in. I don’t want him anywhere near you. Don’t make me kill his ass, Mickey. I will kill him if he ever touches you again. I fucking mean it. Now go. I love you. Lock the fucking door”.

Mickey reluctantly did as he was told, reminding himself that this was the plan they had agreed to. He had to stick to the fucking plan. Everything would be fine. 

When Ian heard the bedroom door lock click, he quickly texted Carl, then pressed the buzzer, letting the bumbling idiots inside the building. He had already unscrewed all but one light bulb, leaving the hallway dimly lit. 

Terry snatched the door open downstairs and glared at Svetlana, “Come on, bitch. Told your stupid ass it would work. Get your ass in there”. 

He grabbed her by the neck and shoved her in ahead of him.

As they stood waiting for the elevator, a chill went down her spine, she wasn’t sure she would make it out of this mess alive. 

Her mind was bombarded with all things she could’ve done differently. At the very top of the list, she would not go to Beckman to visit Terry Milkovich. Getting back at Ian and Mickey no longer seemed important. 

She still believes that she could’ve had a good life with Mickey and the boy. She could’ve been a good wife. She would’ve let Mickey fuck her ass. She would’ve even dyed her fucking hair orange for him, but he never gave her a chance. So yes, she hated Ian for taking Mickey away from her, and she hated Mickey for not marrying her. 

Terry had promised her that Mickey would marry her. But now she wishes that she had just let it go. She could’ve made a life for her and the boy, just the two of them. She saw single moms living their lives all the time. The more she thought about it, she rarely saw families with fathers on the south side. 

She could have learned how to be a nurturer. Watch other mothers, learn from them. She would give anything to be in the park chasing her boy around right now. 

She could’ve used the money they sent her every month to make a life for herself and the boy. That’s what they told her to do. Now she had nothing. Terry took every dime she had saved the minute he got home, and he took everything she made turning tricks. Why had she told him about the money they sent her every month? 

So many fucking mistakes, too many to count. 

They took the elevator to the floor they wanted. Terry stumbled getting off the elevator, cursing as he looked around, trying to get his bearings, “The fuck is it so fucking dark in this shithole? Fuck.” 

She decided to try to save herself one more time. She looked at him, “I wait in hall. Watch for trouble. Yes”?

He backhanded her and snarled, “Bitch, shut the fuck up. You do what I say. You hear me? I’ll blow your stupid fucking brains out. Shut the fuck up till I tell your dumb ass to talk”. 

He took his gun out of his waistband and waved it in her face menacingly.

She stumbled back, rubbing her jaw with one hand, using the other one to catch the blood dripping from her throbbing nose, nodding vigorously, “I be quiet, No talking. No hit me. Please, no more hit. No more”. 

She was at her wits end, beaten down, scared and hopeless. 

Why had she even listened to him and his stupid plan? It wasn’t really a plan. He was crazy, he was violent, he wasn’t even smart, and he was going to kill her. She knew it. 

He shot her an evil grin and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, slinging snot in her face. 

When he was satisfied that she was sufficiently terrified, he put the gun back in his waistband and shoved her ahead of him. 

They were so distracted by each other they didn’t hear Carl sneak up behind them.

When they stopped at Ian and Mickey’s door, Carl kicked Terry square in the back with so much force Terry collided into the door, knocking it clean off its hinges. 

Because Svetlana was standing in front of Terry, she crashed through the door first, landing heavily on her side. 

The force of her fall disoriented her, hot pain seared through her body, she saw stars, her ears rang. Was she dead? 

Did Terry kill her this time? She couldn’t move her body, she was pinned beneath him. Why was she on the floor? Did he shoot her? 

There was blood. Why was she bleeding? She remembered the gun. He shot her. 

Her head was throbbing, blood was pouring down her face into her eyes. Did he shoot her in the head? 

She wriggled one arm free and frantically examined first her head, then the parts of her body that she could reach, checking for bullet holes. It was the same arm Terry had twisted behind her back the other night. She remembered the violence he had heaped on her and she knew without a doubt that he would kill her this time. 

That’s why he brought her here. It was a set up, they were all in on it. They were going to kill her. She tried to push Terry off, but he was too damn heavy. He had her pinned down, smothering her, he was killing her, she had to get away from him. Nobody to help her. 

Suddenly, her hand touched something cold. Cold metal. What is this? Gun? Terry’s gun? Did he drop it after he shot her? He brought her here to kill her. She had to hurry, get the gun before he could shoot her again. He was going to kill her. 

Scared out of her mind, she grabbed the gun with her injured hand, and mustering all her strength, she twisted her battered body around to face Terry. 

She pointed the gun at him and looked into his hate filled eyes. Just before she pulled the trigger, he spat, “Fucking whore bitch,” then his head exploded in her face. 

“Off me!! Off! Get up!!! He kills me! I bleed, I shot. He shoots me. Help!!,” she screamed hysterically, inhaling the gore that used to be Terry Milkovich’s head. 

She screamed and screamed as his dead weight settled on her, he was heavier than ever. Now she couldn’t move at all. 

Right before he died, Terry had been stunned stupid. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening either. How the fuck did he get face down on the fucking floor? 

Is this Mickey’s apartment? How did he get in here, wind up on the fucking floor? Did they let him in? Why is he on the fucking floor? Did some motherfucker knock him down? The fuck happened? Why is the bitch under him? He couldn’t fucking think. He couldn’t move. What the fuck happened?

He tried to get up, but he couldn’t fucking move. He couldn’t fucking move. The fuck? He couldn’t feel his fucking legs. Did something fall on him? Was he in a fucking earthquake or some shit? In fucking Chicago? Where the fuck is everybody? 

He was about to tell that stupid bitch to shut the fuck up and help him up when he looked into her eyes. He saw hatred, fear, desperation, and determination. 

He knew without a doubt, she was gonna to kill him and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do to stop her. His fucking time was up. 

He used his last breath to snarl, “Fucking whore bitch”. 

Then, there was a loud gunshot. 

“Well, shit. She fucking killed him, man” Carl whispered, as he kicked the gun out of her reach. 

“Jesus. Fuck. Shit. She fucking killed him, Mick. She fucking killed Terry. Fuck,” Ian said, horrified. He couldn’t believe this shit. The actual fuck?

Mickey looked down in amazement, biting his lower lip. What the actual fuck? He said, “Man. That bitch killed him. She fucking killed his ass. Shit. This went better than we could've ever planned. Shit. Well, bitch, guess you get to stay in America. In fucking prison. Different dream, still America. Good job. Good fucking job”.

She was hysterical, “Help? Get him off. He kills me!! He kills me, Mickey. I kills first. He kills me. His gun. Help? I get up. Help me up, he dead. Help, please. Get off. Blood, he bleeds on me. Need to get it off”. 

They had to help her up. She had to get away from him. So much blood. Where was Terry's head? His face?

“Shut the fuck up. You bumbled your dumb ass into a fucking murder charge. First fucking degree murder. This right here is what you call an active fucking crime scene and shit. Yellow tape type shit. You gonna stay right there till the fucking cops come. Now shut the fuck up. You just killed a man in cold blood, bitch. By the way, thanks,” Mickey said with an evil grin.

Svetlana was struggling hard trying to get Terry off her. She was hysterical, screaming bloody murder. 

Terry's face was gone. His fucking face was gone, his head was gone. She was having a hard time breathing, inhaling blood and gore with each breath. She was covered in it. It she heard squishing every time she moved. Terry's fucking face was gone. He was on top of her. She couldn't move him. They wouldn’t help her. She couldn’t think straight. They were not going to help her. Nobody ever helped her. What was gonna happen to her? 

Cops were going to lock her up in Beckman. Deport her back to Russia. Her life was over. She screamed and screamed until she eventually passed out.

Carl looked down at Terry’s headless, faceless body, then over at Svetlana’s unconscious one, “She finally shut the fuck up. Man, she fucking did it this time. Solved all our fucking problems in one go. Damn”. 

They looked down at the bodies on the floor, then at each other. You couldn’t make this shit up.

When Svetlana regained consciousness, they were all staring at her in awe. She had fucking killed Terry Milkovich. 

She thrashed around frantically. Why weren't they helping her? They had to help her. Mickey could get rid of body. He was a Milkovich, he knew how. 

Ian and brother could help. Need to hurry before cops came. She had to make them hurry. Time was running out. 

She would try Ian, the boy scout, “He makes me come, Ian. Terry, makes me to get address, makes me to come. Gets address to here from Kev. Terry makes me do. He threats me. Scared of Terry. Like you and Mickey. I sorry, everything. I wrong. He makes me to come. I go away, never to bother. Take baby, we go. Be nurturer, good mother like you wants. You say this, I hear. Terry no bother again. Is out picture. Is gone”.

"The only thing you’ll be from now on is a good prison inmate, bitch,” Ian snarled.

“What about baby? Need mother. You and Mickey care about baby, know he need me. Need mother nurture. You send money for baby, know he need mother. Kev give to me money every month. He tells you I take care of baby good. I Keeps him away from Terry. Protects him good. Baby need mother. You say it, I hear you,” she pleaded. They had to help her, she had to make them understand. 

Time was running out. They had to help her. She had to make them understand before it was too late. Before the cops 

“The baby will be fine. You parked him with Debbie a long time ago. He’ll be better off without your skank ass”, Mickey told her.

“Help me up, please. Terry heavy. He dead. You want him dead. I do for you and Ian. You help me now. I kill him for you. You hate him, Ian hate him. Is how things work in America. You help me now,” she pleaded.

“Well, yeah, he’s fucking dead. That's for sure. We’re glad his ass is dead, and we’re glad that you’ll spend the rest of your fucking life in a cell for killing him. That’s how shit works in America,” Ian said.

Carl took a huge roll of bills from Svetlana’s purse and waved it in front of her face. “Thanks, bitch. We’ll put this to good use for you”. 

He grinned, turning to Ian and Mickey, “No sense letting the cops get their fucking hands on it. College fund for the kid, or whatever”. He passed it to Mickey.

Svetlana recognized the rubber band holding the large bundle of money together. The money Terry took from her. 

“Is my money. Kev gives to me. You send for boy. Is mine. Terry takes from me. Is mine”.

“We were gonna use it to set your dumb ass up. But change of plans since you took care of everything so nicely. You won’t need money where you’re going. You’ll get a full fucking ride. All expenses paid,” Ian laughed at his own joke, elbowing Mickey in the side.

“Shut the fuck up, man. Corny fucker,” Mickey said, rolling his eyes as he left the room to put the money away.

What were they talking about? Set up? How? She didn’t understand anything. They had to help her. Ian. Boy scout. She had to try again, “Help me, yes? I go away. Back to Russia. Never to bother. I promise this”.

“You can’t expect upstanding, law abiding citizens like us to tamper with a crime scene. Shame on you, Svetlana. Good thing you’re going away forever. You would teach the kid the wrong morals, fucked up values and shit. You’re a fucking murderer, not much of a role model” Ian said. 

Just then, two police officers arrived, elbowing their way through the crowd that had gathered in the hallway. They took in the peculiar crime scene before them, “What happened here?” one of the officers asked. 

Just as Ian was starting to speak, Svetlana looked up at the officer, sobbing, and babbling hysterically, “He dead. He kills me, I kills first. He makes me to come here. Get off me, get off. He dead. Kills me”. She had to make them understand.

“Mam, please. I can’t understand you. Calm the fuck down, will you”? The officer ordered. 

“We heard a loud crash, grabbed our bat, but before we could get in here, we heard a fucking gunshot. This is what we found. We called 911,” Ian said, sounding perplexed. He was extremely proud of his performance.

“Do you know these people?” one of the officers asked. This is some fucked up shit right here. The detectives had their work cut out for them. 

“The dead son of a bitch is my father,” Mickey said without batting an eye.

“You weren’t on good terms, I take it?” the officer asked, scratching his head.

“Nah. Not at all. He was a homophobic prick. Probably came here to kill us,” Mickey said.

“Who is the woman?” the other cop asked, looking at Svetlana who was sobbing loudly. 

Carl explained that they were all from Chicago originally, and that Svetlana had been living with Terry since he got out of prison. 

Within the hour, their apartment was swarming with homicide detectives, the crime scene unit, the medical examiner and EMTs.

A detective took Carl’s statement, “I’m visiting my brother. I was sleeping on the couch when they crashed through the fucking door. I was disoriented, being in a strange place and all. Before I could react, I heard what sounded like a fucking gunshot, then those two clowns rushed in with that stupid bat. What they were gonna do with a fucking bat, I’ll never know. Anyway, we finally figured out that she shot Terry. She fucking killed him, man”.

“Any idea why? Did she say why?” the detective asked.

Carl paused for effect, he was enjoying the hell out of this shit. Maybe his future was in acting. He had been looking to make a career move. He said, “Nah. She was fucking hysterical, man. Blacked out a few times. Kept waking up, screaming and shit till she passed out again. Fucking weird man. Dunno what he could’ve done to make her so fucking mad”. 

“You were on the couch, but you didn’t see or hear anything?” a different detective asked.

“I heard the fucking crash, it woke me up. Scared the shit outta me. Then I heard the fucking gunshot. Then I saw that asshole Terry, dead. She blew his fucking face off, man,” Carl explained patiently. 

He was helping the cops solve a crime for the first time in his life. He was impressed with his own performance. Yeah, maybe acting.

Mickey studied the floor, rolling his eyes at Carl’s bullshit.

Ian had to leave the room for a glass of water, Carl was so fucking full of shit.

The detective asked, “Did anyone move the gun”?

“Yeah. I kicked it away from her. Didn’t want her to kill us, too,” Carl said innocently.

“Did you touch it”?

“Nah, man. I kicked it away from her. So she couldn’t reach it. She was acting crazy and shit. She already killed one motherfucker tonight,” Carl said. 

One of the detectives asked Mickey why they didn’t help Svetlana up.

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, “Man, she could have another fucking gun on her. They broke into our home, kicked the fucking door down. You expect us to help her? Fuck her. That’s why we called you”. 

The EMTs had moved Terry’s body and Svetlana was sitting on the floor, back against the wall sobbing quietly as one of EMTs tended to a large, bloody gash on her throbbing forehead. She watched warily as one officer searched her purse. 

The detective questioned her, “What happened here, mam? He your boyfriend”?

“He makes me to come. Comes to kill gay boys, Mickey and Ian. Hate the gays. Makes me to come. Threats me, beats me, rapes me. I scared all the time. Not boyfriend. Terry bad, very bad. Everybody hates. I have baby. Must take care. No jail. I must care for baby. Very very little”.

“Is that your gun?” the detective asked.

“No. Is Terry. He kills me. His gun. I kills first. Defense to self”.

“Why was he gonna kill you, mam”?

“He mean. Hate peoples, every peoples. Hate me. I scared, he beats me lots. Always beats me. Rapes me. Hurts me. Lots. Beats Mickey, beats Ian. They tell you. Yes? I defense me or he kills me. No jail. I defense me,” she pleaded, trying to make him understand.

“That’s not really how it works, lady,” the detective said.

Carl silently watched the officer search Svetlana’s purse. Earlier that night, he had waited outside their house until they left to come here. He sneaked in and stole Terry’s meth, his cash, and a gun. Driving carefully, because he didn’t want to get pulled over, he was still able to beat them here because of the rain and they didn’t know the fucking city. Plus, they were fucking dumbasses. 

The officer pulled out a bag filled with meth. He held it up, “This yours, mam”? 

She looked up in alarm, “No mine. No drugs never. No mine. They puts there. Wants troubles for me. They puts there,” she shook her head desperately. This is what Carl meant earlier about a setup.

“Lady, you’re already in a shitload of trouble. This is the least of your problems,” the officer said, shaking his own head. This is a fucking clusterfuck, right here.

“Maybe they were fighting over the meth and she killed him,” Ian offered, thoughtfully.

“Is that what happened, mam?” the officer asked.

Svetlana was sobbing and shaking, on the verge of hysteria again, “Not mine. They puts there. They do to me. Not mine”. 

She looked at Mickey, flinching at the hatred burning in his eyes. He believed every fucking word she said about Terry’s abusive treatment. But he didn’t have it in him to feel sorry for her. They had tried to help her and the kid. She tried to hurt them at every turn. Fuck her. 

“Stand up, mam,” the officer said, hauling her up and handcuffing her hands behind her back. 

Ian walked over to her, and spoke quietly, “Guess I didn’t need ICE to get rid of your stupid ass. You fixed everything all by yourself. Even got rid of Terry for us. Don’t know how to thank you. Have a wonderful life, bitch”.

She asked, “Who takes baby, Ian”?

“He’ll be fine. We’ll see to it”.

“You takes baby here with you”? 

“I said he’ll be fine. You left him with Debbie, so don’t try to act like the concerned mother now. What, you thought we didn’t know what you were up to? We knew what you were doing the whole time. We know everything you did. We never trusted your ass”.

Mickey walked over and wrapped his arm around Ian’s waist, “I hope you rot in prison, bitch. This shit worked out better than we ever could’ve planned. Leave it to your dumb ass to fuck yourself over. You never learn,” he flipped her off and led Ian away as the cops led her away.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey grapples with a major decision.

Ian was tossing the salad for dinner, and Mickey was sitting at the table going through the mail.

Tonight, would be their first session since Svetlana killed Terry. They had learned that she would be deported back to Russia in a few weeks. They could finally close that chapter of their life. Almost.

Mickey had been dreading this conversation, but he knew they had to have it. 

“Man, what about the kid? What’re we gonna do about him?” he asked, laying the mail down on the table. 

Ian sat down slowly, “What do you wanna to do about him, Mick? We’ll do whatever you want, baby”.

“I don’t know, man. I don’t know what the right thing is. Even if he’s not mine, he might still be a fucking Milkovich. He ain’t got nobody but us, and I don’t really wanna put him up for adoption. The fucking system sucks. Fuck. I just don’t know,” Mickey said. 

Ian checked the oven to buy some time, then he sat back down, “I was talking to Debbie the other night, she said everything is good, the kid is good. She thinks he misses his mom, he looks around sometimes, like he’s looking for her and shit. He doesn’t cry or anything, it doesn’t last long, and it doesn’t happen a lot. She wasn’t around that much anyway, just popped in from time to time, never stayed long. He’s healthy and happy, meeting all his milestones and shit”. 

“Good. I just wanna get shit settled. Permanent and shit,” Mickey said, eyes downcast.

Ian placed a hand over Mickey’s hand, “Yeah, I know, Mick. What’re you thinking? We’re gonna do whatever you want.   
Whatever you’re comfortable with. He’s fine with Debbie, she’s not pressing us”.

Ian paused for a beat before saying, “She mentioned adopting him, Mick. He’s been with her all his little life. Her and Franny love him, they all love him, and he loves them. Fiona is good with him being there. They’re all he knows. I was gonna bring it up, but I didn’t know if you were ready. Wanted to give you a chance to bring it up”.

“She wants to adopt him? Debs wants him”?

“Yes, baby. She wants him. I don’t know the age requirement for adoption in Illinois, but we can find out. If she’s too young, we just wait till she’s old enough. Keep things the way they are till then,” Ian said.

Mickey jumped up and rushed out of the kitchen, he came back with the laptop. He scrolled until he found what he was looking for, “Fuck. Gotta be fucking 21. Hell, I just turned 22 my damn self”.

“Well, don’t worry. Like I said, we’ll keep everything like it is till she’s old enough. That good?” Ian asked.

“Yeah. Yeah. But we should send her more money, though. Make sure she’s got everything she needs, enough for extras for him and Franny. Want her to stay home with them, not have to worry about money and shit. I can schedule myself more shifts”.

“We do whatever you want. I know she wants to stay at home with them, raise them herself and shit. But you won’t take on more shifts, though. We’re fine. We make enough already to send her more money. We do this together. Me and you. Our responsibility. You’re so good, baby. You wanna make sure he has a good, stable home,” Ian said, smiling softly.

Mickey loved Ian for his thoughtfulness, but he had a troubling thought. He was plagued by it, as a matter of fact. 

He took a deep breath, “Just don’t want people expecting me to be in his life and shit, that ain’t happening, Ian. What about when he gets older and starts asking questions? What do we tell him? Maybe adoption will be best for him. Give him a fresh start and shit. Fuck, man. I don’t fucking know”. 

“We can work the details out, Mickey. We’ll handle the rest as it comes along. Like we always do. Together. I got you, baby. Just let me know how you wanna handle things”.

“I just feel bad ‘cause I don’t want him here with us. Least I can do is make sure he’s provided for. Gonna talk about it some more with Doc at our next session”.

“Your individual or ours together?” Ian asked.

“Both, I guess. Mainly ours together. It affects you, too,” Mickey said, smiling softly. He was so lucky to have Ian in his life.

“Guess we could bring it up tonight then,” Ian said. 

Family Session / Doc’s Office

“I want to deal with anger and depression tonight, guys. Anger can be adaptive, and it can be maladaptive. Adaptive anger motivates us to make positive change. Mickey, can you tell us why you decided to get help? What happened?” Doc asked.

Mickey sat up, “I found out that Ian had shot that sleazy, crackhead motherfucker. I put Ian in danger, he could catch a case because I was fucking around with that shit. I was ruining his fucking life. Wasn’t enough I was fucked up, I had to bring him down with me”.

“So, you were you angry at yourself, then?” Doc asked.

“Yeah”.

“That’s adaptive anger. You were mad at yourself because you put Ian in danger. That anger motivated you to get treatment for your drug use,” she said. 

“What are you thinking, Mickey?” she asked after a beat, finding it difficult to gauge his reaction.

“You’re saying that anger is a good thing?” he asked, confused. 

He always thought anger was a bad thing. Hell, he knew it was a bad thing. His biggest fuck ups happened when he was fucking angry. 

He thought about how he had suffered, all his fucking life, because of Terry’s anger. The fuck is she talking about?

“How were you feeling about yourself when you decided to get treatment? Do you remember?” she asked.

“I just didn’t want Ian to be worried about me anymore, I didn’t want him to get in trouble fucking around with my sorry ass. I had put him through enough”.

“Yes, but how did you feel about yourself, Mickey, when you decided to get help”? she pressed.

“Fuck. I don’t fucking know, Doc. I was relieved, I guess. I was hoping Ian would wait for me. I hoped it wasn’t too late. When he said he would wait for me, I knew I could do it. I knew I could kick that shit, get better and come home to him”.

“So, you felt relieved and you felt like you could get better?” Doc asked. 

“Yeah, guess so,” he said.

Doc smiled, “So, the anger motivated you to get the treatment you needed. That decision gave you relief and it made you feel hopeful for the future. That is adaptive anger, and yes, adaptive anger is a good thing. Do you understand what I’m saying”? 

“Yeah, got you. I got mad at myself and finally did something to help myself,” he said.

“Exactly. Ian, what are you thinking?” she asked.

“I understand. I was so proud of him when he told me that he was sitting in Tim’s office. I thought I had lost him, had run him away for good,” Ian said, remembering that dreadful day. Remembering how mad he was and how he had wanted to hurt Mickey.

Sensing what Ian was thinking, Mickey took his hand, “I knew you were sitting there worrying about my ass, blaming yourself. I was walking the fucking streets cursing myself for what I was doing to you. I had to make it right, had to make sure you were alright. The only way to do that was to make sure I was alright. So, I had to get help for my fucking self,” he said. 

“Mickey, do you remember when we started, I told you we had to get at the root of the drug use? I told you that the drugs were a symptom. Well, we’re getting at the root now. I believe that the drug abuse was your way of saying ‘I’m not worth anything so I don’t deserve to be happy. I don’t deserve to be whole’. That’s maladaptive anger. Your anger was turned inward, your thoughts about yourself were negative. When someone feels like that, they put themselves at risk for harm. You did that by abusing pills, escalating to H, and ultimately passing out in a dangerous place. A place that you knew to be dangerous. I believe you were trying to communicate your misery, your hopelessness. You were crying out for help, in effect. When someone feels that they will never be good enough, that they will never be worthy, they fall into despair. They become depressed, Mickey,” Doc paused for a beat.

Ian spoke, somewhat confused, “He never acted depressed”. 

Mickey remained silent, but he was listening closely. Is she saying I’ve been depressed my whole fucking life and didn’t even fucking know it? I am a crazy motherfucker. 

At least Ian knows when he’s depressed. Hell, everybody knows when Ian’s depressed.

“Depression affects one’s mood, their thinking, their feelings, and their behavior. It affects every aspect of one’s life. When Mickey’s feelings became unbearable, he turned to the pills, when they no longer gave him the desired effect, he turned to smack to give them a boost. The drug use aggravated his depression, made it worse. As his drug use increased, he became more secretive, his behavior became more erratic and suspect, causing his relationship with you to deteriorate. The only positive, loving relationship he ever had was at risk. This made him feel more alone, more hopeless, more isolated. He became more depressed. He was caught up in a vicious cycle”. 

She paused, giving them both time to process the information.

Mickey was sitting with his head down. Doc knew that he was listening, but she needed to know what he was thinking. 

“Mickey, what are your thoughts”? 

His head snapped up, “Shit, I don’t fucking know what I think, Doc. I knew that I was pushing Ian away. I’d catch him looking at me when he thought I was asleep. The sadness and hurt on his face made me feel like the piece of shit Terry always said I was. Nothing I did made any fucking difference. The fucking pills worked for a while, I was sleeping good, no fucking nightmares, I was upbeat and shit, felt pretty good. Then, I needed more pills and the fucking doctor stopped giving ‘em to me. I started buying off the street. That worked for a while, then I started snorting H with the fucking pills. I know I fucked up bad. Real fucking bad”.

“I should’ve done something. I knew he was fucking around with smack. I knew it, and I just let him,” Ian said, sadly.

“You didn’t let him do anything, Ian. He didn’t want your help. He didn’t think he deserved your help. He had convinced himself that he was worthless, hopeless, and helpless. He needed professional help. He had to hit rock bottom. Fortunately, you were able to save him from another horrible rape. I believe that knowing where you found him, and the danger you put yourself in for him, triggered his strong sense of survival, and he decided to seek help on his own. He took the initiative and walked into the drug treatment center on his own and asked for help. He has been proactive in his treatment, he wants to get better, and he’s willing to do the hard work. He wants to survive, he’s always wanted to survive. Terry couldn’t take that from him, no matter how hard he tried. And now he has you, Ian. Your support is important to his recovery. Now that everything is out in the open, he no longer has to suffer alone. He can talk openly and honestly about his fears and doubts with you. He sees that you won’t reject him, you won’t ridicule him, you won’t abandon him. You know the worst of it, and you’re still here. You still love him,” Doc said.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she asked, “Any questions or thoughts about anything we’ve discussed so far?”

They both shook their heads ‘No’. 

“Well, then, I think this is a good place to stop for now. We covered a fair amount. I want you both to share your thoughts at our next session. Any other concerns before we wrap up, then”?

“Yeah, Doc. We wanted to talk about the kid. What to do with him and shit,” Mickey said. 

He explained that Svetlana was being deported, leaving out most of the horrific details of Terry’s death. Specifically, their plan to lure them in. 

He ended the story saying, “So, we’re basically responsible for the kid”.

“Ok. So, how are you handling all that?” Doc asked.

“Don’t really have a fucking choice, Doc. The kid don’t got nobody else, just me and Ian”.

She studied them both intently before saying, “I think it’s admirable that you two are taking responsibility for the child’s well-being. Is he still with Ian’s family in Chicago”?

Doc noted Mickey’s discomfort, he was chewing his inner cheek and fidgeting with his hands.

Ian said, “Yeah. My baby sister, Debbie, wants to adopt him, but she’s too young, gotta be 21. So, we decided to let him stay with her and when she’s old enough, do the fucking adoption. It’s the only home he knows. She’s basically his mom anyway”.

“I see. You’ve clearly given this some thought. Will you two be active in his life?” she asked.

Mickey spoke up quickly, “Nah. Just financial support. That’s it. We’ll make sure he has what he needs. I just don’t want Ian’s family fucking with me to be in his life. They’re big on family and shit. Real judgmental assholes, the lot of ‘em. Sometimes I think adoption might be best, probably less chance of fucking the kid up”.

Doc looked at Ian, “What are your thoughts, Ian”? 

“I want whatever Mick wants. I’m done making decisions for him,” he said with finality.

This topic was unexpected. But Doc had learned to roll with the punches when it came to these two. To be effective, she had to be adaptable. Shit was always happening to them. 

She quickly switched gears and said, “We talked a bit about how you felt being around the mother while she was pregnant, Mickey. If I remember correctly, you left Chicago soon after the child was born. Tell me more about your feelings while you waited for the child to be born,” Doc asked him. 

“It’s like she used her pregnancy like it was a fucking weapon, a fucking assault rifle, threatened me with it and shit. She was gonna use it to keep my ass in line, and shit. She was gonna take over my whole damn life, control me and shit. She was gonna make me marry her, make me be a fucking husband, make me be a fucking father, make me be a fucking family with her and her kid. Wouldn’t be nothing left when she got finished with my ass. It was fucked up, they were out to destroy my ass. Her and fucking Terry, they were gonna destroy my natural ass. I get mad whenever I think about that shit. It was like I was just a walking dick, forced to ejaculate on command. Procreate on demand and shit. I can’t stand to be around pregnant women to this day. I see ‘em coming, I go the other fucking way. I can’t fucking stand ‘em. Got one on my fucking crew at work right now. Don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do, I gotta find a way to work with her. I’m her fucking supervisor, fucks sake,” Mickey said harshly.

Doc steered the conversation back to the matter at hand, making a mental note to revisit Mickey’s thoughts about his pregnant staff member. 

“Are you mad at the child, Mickey?” She asked, continuing to pay particular attention to his body language. 

“Fuck No. Fuck would I be mad at him for? He didn’t ask for this shit either. It’s just that the bitch got a fucking vote about my fucking life, and I didn’t. I didn’t fucking matter, nobody even considered giving me a fucking vote. Bitch rapes me, she doesn’t want a fucking abortion, so I’m stuck with a fucking kid I will never want. Not now, and not down the fucking line. Guess I’m a bad person, ‘cause every fucking body knows that the baby is innocent, he can’t help the fucked up circumstances of his birth. Well, I know all that shit and I still don’t want him”.

“Mick, you’re not a bad person. For once, you’re talking about your feelings. You’re being honest about how you feel. Whoever doesn’t understand that, fuck ‘em,” Ian said hotly. 

Mickey is right. No one considered his feelings, not even Ian. The bitch decided to have the baby and Ian just got on board and forced Mickey to get on board with her fucking program. 

If she didn’t want an abortion, they should’ve left her ass to it, and got the fuck away from her. 

But no, he had to force Mickey to endure her evil, pregnant ass, and look what happened. He would never forgive himself for putting Mickey through that shit. 

Mickey laughed, “Calm down, tough guy. Don’t get your fucking panties in a twist”.

Doc was caught unawares by that and she laughed so hard she was doubled over. Her laughter was infectious, they found themselves laughing along with her. 

Still laughing, Ian stood up, “Time for a Pepsi run. Be right back”.

“Wait a second, Ian. Let me get my money, I’d like one, too, please”, Doc said, still laughing as she opened a desk drawer.

“I got you, Doc. Made sure I brought enough change,” he said, hurrying away.

Mickey looked after him with a fond smile, “Fucking boy scout. I wondered why he was saving all those fucking quarters on the dresser”.

Doc smiled, “You two are incredibly funny. I’m very glad you’re happy, Mickey. You deserve good things. You both do, you try so hard to do the right thing”. 

“Thanks, Doc. We’re doing good. Ian’s doing good, back on track and shit. Thanks for your help with that,” he said, smiling bashfully. 

Ian hurried back in and passed the drinks around. “Thank you very much, Ian. My treat next time,” Doc said, smiling.

“No worries, Doc,” he said, kissing the top of Mickey’s head as he sat down. 

“So, Mickey do you think you’re a bad person because you don’t want to parent the child?” Doc asked as they settled in with their drinks.

“Well, he doesn’t deserve this shit. All he did was be fucking born,” Mickey said.

She studied him intently, “He doesn’t deserve what, exactly”?

Mickey was confused, “For people not to want him. A kid needs parents that want him around, a stable home, shit like that. All the things I never had”.

“From what you’ve told me, he has that. Ian’s sister has cared for him most of his life, he’s part of the family. She wants to adopt him when she’s old enough. Do you have any reason to think she won’t continue to provide a stable home? Any reason to think she doesn’t want him around?” she asked.

“Well, no. She loves kids, always has. But I guess I should want him, is what I’m saying”.

“Why”?

“Why? Fuck, Doc. He don’t got no fucking body else, that’s why,” Mickey said irritably. 

Doc was pissing him off with this shit. Why wasn’t she paying attention?

“You are not able to parent him, but you’ve made sure that he has a stable home with people who love him. He has two amazing men who supported his mother during her pregnancy. You two have supported him financially his entire life and will continue to do so. The decision to parent him or not, is yours to make, yours and Ian’s. No one else knows your life. The person making you feel bad about your decision is you. You’re the only one who can make you feel that way, if you allow it to happen, Mickey,” Doc said. 

“What do you mean exactly?” Ian asked.

Doc smiled, “I believe that Mickey thinks he deserves to be judged harshly by others for his decision to not parent the child, to not be involved in his life”.

Ian shook his head and looked over at Mickey, “Mick, it’s the best decision for all of us, especially for him. Debs wants him, she loves him, man. Him and Franny are like brother and sister. You know how my family is, they all love him”.

Mickey exhaled loudly, “Yeah, I know. It’s just that I’ve fucked up so much shit. I don’t trust myself to make a good decision about important shit”.

“He’s gotta do that reframing stuff about this, huh Doc?” Ian asked.

“Yes, Ian, you’re right. He needs to start telling himself the truth about his life. Rather than, ‘I’m a bad person because I don’t want anything to do with the child’, a better narrative would be, ‘I’m not able to parent the child so I found a loving family for him, and I will continue to take care of him financially’. Do you understand Mickey?” Doc asked, studying him intently as she waited for his response. 

“Yeah, Doc. Got it”.

“You never got a paternity test. Why?” Doc asked.

Mickey looked at Ian, then he said, “Didn’t really see the need. Just more money to shell out and we were saving everything we could to move here. We always knew we would have to take care of him. If he’s not mine, he’s probably my fucking brother. Either way, he ain’t got nobody else, just us.” 

“I see. Are you afraid to know if you’re his father, Mickey?” Doc asked.

“I don’t wanna be his fucking father”.

“What if you are? What will change?” Doc probed softly.

He thought about it and said, “Nothing, I guess. Still gonna let Debbie keep him. Still gonna send money, take care of his needs and shit. Nothing will change”.

“Should we do the paternity test?” Ian asked.

“That’s entirely up to you two. I’m concerned that Mickey might be afraid to find out,” Doc said.

“I am, kinda,” he admitted. 

“If nothing will change, what exactly are you afraid of?” she asked.

“Fuck. I’ll know for sure, then,” he said. He was getting a fucking headache. All these fucking questions. 

“So, your feelings will change?” she pressed.

“No. It’ll just be worse,” he said irritably. 

“Will the situation itself be worse or will what you tell yourself about the situation be worse, Mickey”?

He stood up, running both hands through his hair as he paced, “Even if I find out he’s mine, I’ll still tell myself that I’m terrible ‘cause I don’t want him. Either way, I’ll still be making sure he has what he needs and shit. So, I guess it’s about what I tell myself about the fucking situation. I can control that shit. I gotta remember that I can control my thoughts about my own fucking life. Frame it how I wanna, make it positive and shit”.

“Exactly,” Doc said. 

Ian was beaming at him, “You did so good, baby. You’re a model head case. First class and shit”.

Mickey laughed, “Fuck you, Ian. Shut the fuck up”.

Doc chuckled, as she searched around on her desk for her appointment book.

“Doc, I think I’m ready to go back to work now,” Mickey said.

Doc agreed, they discussed the documentation he would need, and scheduled their next session. She made a note to explore coping mechanisms for dealing with Mickey’s pregnant staff member.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on, Mickey and Ian go back to their jobs.

Mickey went back to work without incident. His job was waiting for him. Everyone was glad to have him back, and he was glad to be back. 

Thanks to Ian’s persistence, Mickey’s workmen’s comp benefits had been paid in full. His fucking privacy had been protected, everyone assumed his long absence resulted from his fall. That fucking HIPPA shit really worked. 

However, Ian’s return to work was more complicated. He, Mickey, and Maya decided that Jay had to be dealt with before Ian returned to work. Maya came over one evening and they made a plan. 

Two days before Ian was scheduled to return, Jay received an email with two attachments. The body of the message was Ian’s detailed account of Jay’s behavior, and the anguish that behavior caused Ian. 

One of the attachments was a chronological account of Jay’s overt advances to Ian. The other attachment contained Mickey’s detailed account of Jay’s inappropriate behavior the day he delivered Ian’s paperwork. They decided to keep Maya’s name out of it unless they needed a witness.

The day Jay received the email, Maya steeled herself as she rapped on his door and walked in, “You wanted to see me”?

“Close the door and sit down,” Jay said, eyeing her warily. 

She should know about this shit, she was always huddled with Ian. I have to be careful how I handle this. Can’t let it get upstairs. That’ll be my ass. Ungrateful assholes, both of them. 

A few seconds passed before she asked, “Jay? What do you want? Why did you call me in here? I’ve got a pile of work out there,” her tone was sharp, impatient. She always gave him attitude, he expected it.

“Yes. Of course. Have you talked to Ian?” he asked.

“Why do you want to know that? Did something happen to him”? 

“No. I don’t know. I’m asking if you’ve talked to him, Maya? Simple question”.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but I do talk to him sometimes,” she said.

“Did he mention anything to you about returning to work?” he asked.

“I know he’s coming back this week. What is this about, Jay?”

“I was wondering if he’s happy here? Did he mention any problems with anyone?”

She stood up, “I’m going back to my desk. Why don’t you ask him? What’s really going on here”?

“Maya, sit down. I’m not done. I am your supervisor”.

“Sadly, you are. You’re wasting my time, right now. What are you after for real? Tell me or I’m out. You can’t grill me about my coworkers just because you’re the supervisor. I read the employee handbook, Jay,” she said as she sat back down, crossing her legs.

“Calm down, Maya. Can I trust you”?

She held his gaze but remained silent. What do you think, asshole? 

When he realized she wasn’t going to answer, he sighed heavily, “Well, ok. I received a troubling email from Ian. Do you know anything about it, Maya?” 

His agitation was palpable by now. He had no idea how this mess would turn out. He had no control over the outcome. 

Why is Ian doing this? It’s all probably that thug’s idea. He couldn’t imagine Ian coming up with this on his own. 

Ian was naïve. He was kind and gentle, always eager to please. He knew that he was lucky to get this job, given his south side background. Jay saw that eagerness to please when he interviewed Ian for the job. 

“Do you think I’d tell you if I did? How does any of this even concern me?” she asked.

“He’s accusing me of sexual harassment, Maya. I don’t really know what to do about it. I can’t let this get upstairs,” Jay snapped.

“Everyone knows you were always after him, trying to get him alone in your office, always cornering him in the kitchen. You weren’t exactly discreet, you know?” Maya snapped right back.

Jay had paled visibly, his hands were shaking, “That’s not true. I’m friendly with all my staff. I just wanted Ian to feel comfortable here. I resent your mis-characterization,” he said hotly, trying his best to appear in charge.  
Other people had noticed? Shit.

“Seems like you made him feel anything but comfortable, if he’s accusing you of sexual harassment”. She wanted him to know that she was involved without really admitting it.

This bitch is in on it. I knew it. Fucking knew it. She hates me, always has. “What does he want Maya? Just fucking tell me. I know you’re in on it,” he spat. 

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? Wouldn’t that be the appropriate thing to do, supervisor”?

“Cut the shit, will you? What does he want”?

“For starters, he probably wants you to leave him the fuck alone. He probably wants his job to be secure. You do have a habit of transferring people out when they won’t fuck you. I guess somebody told Ian about your history. How you use your position to pressure guys to fuck your gross ass, and when they don’t, you transfer them out,” she said, eyeing him with contempt. 

He loosened his tie, glaring at her, “That’s not true. You probably put those ideas in Ian’s head. You’re a bitch, should’ve got rid of your ass a long time ago,” he snarled.

“Fine. I’m pretty sure Ian won’t have a problem going upstairs to settle this little dispute. Oh, but you don’t want that do you? That’s why you called me in here, right, supervisor? So, let’s get to it, then. Ian wants his merit raise, the one you’ve been holding up for whatever fucking reason. HR can probably assign a reason as to why you’ve been dragging your ass when they review his detailed documentation. How ‘bout that shit, huh, supervisor”?

She stood up, “I’m leaving now. Oh, and because you called me a nasty name, add my merit raise to the list of demands. The one you’ve been holding up for months, you pathetic asshole,” she turned and walked out, leaving the door standing open, knowing that he hated when people left his door standing open. 

He got up and slammed his door. Bitch, leaving his door open. She knows better. He sat down heavily and scrubbed his hands down his face. Shit. 

Is there a way out, without giving in? They’ll always be able to blackmail me. Fuck. Is she right? Does everyone know? Shit. 

He knew that his employees didn’t like him, and they didn’t respect him. It never bothered him before, because he felt the same way about them. Hell, he felt the same way about his boss. 

As far as he was concerned, that’s just the way it is. You go to work to make as much damn money as you can, to advance as far as you can, not to make friends. 

He had no illusions about his prospects to advance beyond mid-management. His performance evaluations had always been mediocre at best. Hell, his damn life was mediocre. That’s just the way it is. 

Two days later, Ian sat in his cubicle waiting patiently for Jay to approach him. He was glad to be back, everyone was glad to have him back. 

Deciding to hurry things along, Jay was taking too long, Ian went to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee that he did not want. 

Just as intended, Jay approached him, “Good to see you back, Ian. I need to speak to you in my office, please”. 

Jay made sure not to stand too close to him. He wanted so badly to touch him. A brief touch would do. He looked so good, so sweet. Jay sighed deeply, then he turned abruptly and walked away.

Ian didn’t answer, he rolled his eyes and followed Jay. This punk ass motherfucker.

“Close the door, please,” Jay said.

Ian closed the door and remained standing, regarding Jay closely.

Jay looked up, “Have a seat, Ian. We’re not strangers, here”.

“I’m good,” Ian said.

“Well, then. Let’s get down to it. I’m sure Maya told you about our conversation. Why didn’t you come to me directly, Ian? Why involve other people? Make it messy and everything? You didn’t need to do that, you know. I’m approachable”.

“What sense would coming to you make, Jay? You were hitting on me. You knew it was wrong. You took advantage of the power imbalance between us. You made it messy all by yourself, man. Then you questioned my partner about our relationship, that was your biggest mistake. Now this is happening”.

“You could’ve handled it differently, Ian. Now, how can I be sure you won’t blackmail me? Whenever something doesn’t go your way, you can bring this shit up. So can Maya. What guarantee do I have?” Jay asked sincerely. 

He was trying desperately to gain the upper hand. He was a mature professional and Ian was just a dumb gay kid from the fucking south side of fucking Chicago. Fucking scum.

“You don’t have any guarantee,” Ian said, in a cold, emotionless voice.

Jay bristled, “You expect me to settle for that? Think you can hold shit over my fucking head? I try to be a friend, take your poor, south side, trashy ass under my wing, and this is how you thank me? And that thug you’re with. Why would you choose him over me? I can help you make something out of your stupid ass. What can he do for you”?

Ian’s entire demeanor changed in an instant. He squared his shoulders, his eyes took on a hard glint, his chin was set in stone, he seemed taller, more imposing. Jay was stunned by the abrupt change. What the fuck? 

“Listen up, asshole. I am gonna hold that shit over your dumb ass head, and you can’t do shit about it. You didn’t wanna be my friend, Jay, you wanted to fuck me. I’ve been dealing with pathetic assholes like you for a long ass time. I wouldn’t look twice at your old, ugly ass. You couldn’t pay my poor, south side trashy ass enough to fuck your gross ass. Now, here’s what we got, bitch. You will leave me the fuck alone, you will leave Maya the fuck alone. You will make sure both of us get all future raises on time. You will expedite the raises that you’ve been holding up, for both of us, asshole. Maya knows how long that fucking process takes. Lastly, you will thank whoever or whatever you thank, that I don’t kick your sorry ass. Got that, bitch?” Ian demanded, eyes cold and hard.

Jay was speechless. He hadn't known what to expect, but it sure as hell wasn't this. 

How could sweet, gentle Ian change so quickly? Right before my eyes? How is that even possible? He didn’t even look the same, he looked harder, mean, like a thug. How is that even possible? 

Ian’s cold voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Bitch, I asked you a fucking question. If this is too much for you to comprehend, I can forward the fucking email to HR,” Ian said in a calm, deadly voice.

Jay blinked rapidly, trying desperately to compose himself. He called me a bitch. He doesn’t respect me. 

“No need to send anything anywhere, Ian. But how can we hope to work together, you clearly don’t respect me anymore”?

Ian’s gaze never wavered, “Anymore? I never respected your gross ass. I’m just a professional motherfucker, able to hide my true feelings when I’m at work and shit. Only thing different is now you know what I really think about your pathetic ass. Up to you to deal with it, or not. You know the terms. I’m out. Later, bitch”. 

Ian walked out, closing the door softly. Ever the model employee.

He gave Maya a thumbs up when he passed her cubicle. 

Jay slumped down in his chair. How the fuck did I let this shit happen? 

He seemed so nice and sweet. When he was stand-offish, I thought he was just shy. Made me want him more. 

I thought he was in-experienced, thought I’d be the one to break him in, give him confidence. 

Teach him how to be a proud gay man. I would’ve loved him, took good care of him. Fucked him real good, made him mine. 

I thought I had a chance with him. He called me a bitch. He called me gross. He called me pathetic. He said he never respected me. How could I be so wrong? 

He signed deeply and decided to look for open mid-level supervisor positions in other departments. 

He couldn’t stay here. The mere presence of Ian and Maya would mock him. They knew he was a fool. A mediocre fool.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey look to the future.

Mickey was running late. He jumped out of the Uber and rushed inside the restaurant. He hurriedly gave the hostess his name, and she led him to the table he had reserved earlier that day. 

Ian smiled brightly and stood up when he saw Mickey heading his way. “Hey, Mick,” he said, when Mickey reached the table. 

Mickey smiled, leaning in to kiss him. Ian’s smile beamed brighter.

“Sorry I’m late, man. Fucking last minute meeting. Got here as soon as I could. Took a fucking Uber”. 

“No worries. What’s the occasion? Gotta say, I was surprised when you texted me to meet you here. What’s up?” Ian asked.

“Can’t I do something nice for my man? Be spontaneous and shit, huh”?

Ian grinned, “Well, sure. I love it. I love you”.

“Love you, too, man. So fucking much. Just wanted to let you know how sorry I am. How much I appreciate you. You stuck with me, Ian. Through it all, you stuck with me”.

“ ‘Course I stuck with you. You belong to me, Mickey. I’ll always stick with you”.

They placed their food orders and sipped the beers Ian had ordered while he waited for Mickey to arrive. 

Mickey cleared his throat nervously. He had practiced what he wanted to say, “The shit I did, man, I’m so fucking embarrassed. I took shit out on you. I tried to fight you, Ian. I’m so fucking sorry. I was outta my fucking mind. I promised a long time ago that I’d never raise my hand to you again. I broke that promise, to you and to me. I’m so fucking sorry for that”.

“Hey, it’s ok. I didn’t let you hurt me. It’s ok, Mickey. I understand. I know how that shit works. I just hate you had to go through all that. It hurt me to see you in so much pain and not be able to help you. I don’t blame you for any of it because I know how it happened. I been loving you for a long ass time, Mickey. I know all about you. I know your fucking story, every fucking chapter, all the fucking pain. I was right there with you. I’ll always be right here, doing whatever I can to make it better, fucking up sometimes, but trying to make shit better”.

Mickey’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, he whispered, “Always. You’ve always been there, man. Always you, Ian. I’m the luckiest motherfucker in the world. I love you so much and I’m so grateful. I’m gonna be so good to you, baby”.

“You’ve always been good to me, Mickey. Even when you didn’t know it, you were good to me. When you didn’t even mean to be, you were good to me. You always saw me, Mick. I was used to being lost in the shuffle at home, being the middle child and shit. Fiona did the best she could, but fuck, there were so damn many of us, and she was just a fucking kid herself. I just made do, accepted my place and shit. I knew they all loved me, but I just wasn’t that important. I wasn’t old enough to help out like Lip was. I didn’t stay in trouble like Carl did. I didn’t need special attention like Debs, being a girl and all, and I wasn’t a baby like Liam. That’s just the way shit was. Then, I found you. Every fucking thing changed for me. I was important to you, I fucking mattered to you, Mickey. You listened to me. Yeah, you pretended not to, but you did. I knew you were listening. You wanted to spend time with me. Sure, it was just fucking at first. But that was something to me. Hell, it was everything to me. I loved you even then, and you loved me, too. You loved me how you could, Mick. You gave me what you could, I see that now. I understand so much now. You’d never had love. You didn’t know how to love, you didn’t know how to receive love. Hell, you didn't even believe in love. You were scared, but over time, bit by fucking bit, you overcame that shit. You’re the bravest motherfucker I know. You took a chance on me, Mickey. You opened your fucking heart to me. I will always treasure it,” Ian said softly.

“I love you, man. We’ve come so fucking far, fought through so much shit. We just fucking held on to each other. No matter what happened, we just dug in and held the fuck on. We made it to the other side,” Mickey said, smiling happily.

Ian smiled softly, “Yeah, we made it, baby”. He couldn’t remember ever being so happy, yet so serious.

Later that night, they lay wrapped up in each other in their bed. 

“Mick, I think it’s time for the next chapter,” Ian said.

“Oh, shit. What you thinking, tough guy”?

“We should enroll in school, get degrees. Be professionals and shit,” Ian said, sitting up and turning on his bedside lamp.

Mickey sat up, too. “You think that, huh?” he teased.

“Yeah. I was thinking something in human services. social work, psychology or some shit. You could specialize in substance abuse. Hell, we could have our own practice. Think about it, Mickey, we could have our own fucking practice. Be partners and shit, practice together, help people. Or, you always been real good with numbers. Way better than Lip, even. Maybe something in business management for you, teaching, or some shit. You can be anything, baby.”

Mickey laughed, “Drug counseling, like Tim, huh? What about you”?

“Well, I was thinking about working with LGBTQ kids. Kids like you were, with no place to go, no fucking support. Abusive homes, homophobic families, and shit”.

Mickey sighed heavily, but hopefully, “So, how the fuck we do it, then”? 

Ian and his fucking life plans. Goals and shit.

Ian grabbed a pen and notebook from his bedside drawer, and scooted closer to Mickey, “Turn your lamp on, Mickey. I’ll show you what I got so far,” he said, excitedly.

Mickey's foremost thought was how fucking lucky he was to be loved by fucking Ian Clayton Gallagher.


End file.
